Women's Spiritual Writing Retreat - Day One

This is the Day… is the theme of this year’s Women’s Spiritual Writing Retreat.  Just that phrase calls to mind scripture, special days of blessing (like birthdays and weddings), and those days that Bob and I have named Before and After (from the movie of the same name), the ones that occur and nothing in one’s life will be the same afterwards (like a serious disease diagnosis or car accident).  Then there are ordinary days, and sometimes there are ordinary days that become extraordinary.  We were going to explore and write about them all.

However, although the fourteen women attending are very interested in writing, the fellowship between us is just as important.  With laughter and tears, we will share parts of our life journey, sometimes even secrets we’ve been keeping.  My cousin is here, two members of my church, my writing partner, a former leader, two women who have suffered serious losses since I’ve last seen them, a woman facing chemotherapy and/or radiation for breast cancer, three women I’ve not met, and two women I’m looking forward to getting to know better.  These are my sisters.

Our centering scripture that we’ll often repeat is: This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.  - Psalm 118:24  We wrote our own versions and shared them.  This is mine: This is the day that I have looked forward to for over a year.  I will catch up with women I have missed and care for and make new friends.  Amen and amen.

After thinking about all the things that “day” brings to my mind (clustering), I wrote the following poem:

                                                                 The Days

From time unknown, Love breathed
and with some clacking of needles,
knitting and purling,
I was formed in my mother’s womb.

I emerged the day of my birth,
nestled in the calendar
just after cousin Ruth
and before Aunt Dorothy.

I lived early days as an explorer
of unchartered territory,
where everything was a new adventure,
and I was filled with unbridled curiosity.

There were teenage days I wore a back brace
when all I wanted was to look like everyone else,
while college days I was seen in hip-hugging bell bottoms
and didn’t want to fit into a sorority.

Most days I was ambitious and wanted society
to be my experimental ground for new ideas.
I was always eager in the creation,
but cared little for evaluation.

It was a mum-wearing crisp day
at a college football game when I
introduced myself to the ringless
Omar Sharif in front of me.

Almost two thousand days later,
I had my princess day at the altar,
made my promises before God and community,
and then learned to lower my expectations.

Each year of days saw my marriage improve
and my family care-giving increase,
first a teenager, then a broken stepson, and,
all too soon, elderly parents.

In the early morning hour of an ordinary day,
with just a tick of the clock,
my grief exploded, mother dead.

How terribly sad the passing of days became
as I watched my beloved dad’s memory
unravel, one stitch at a time.

After I lost him,
it was also through a passing of days
that I was able to heal.

I enjoy every one of  my now “autumn” days
with a new awareness.  I more often have
eyes to see and ears to hear.

These days are less filled with
scheduled activities, and yet
God calls me to a new thing
and to a time unknown.