Spiritual roots and wings are more than symbolic. They can remind you of a deep and abiding legacy that may lay dormant within you today.

Childlike spiritual awareness doesn’t always center on a specific religious discipline as mine did. It can also take root in the simplest of times: summers spent at a lake, working on science projects with that one inspirational teacher, hiking in the woods, or playing sports.

Regardless of how the tapestry of your life began and evolved, sometimes going home, even if only in your mind, can be an excellent practice in self nurturing and growth.

Deeply rooted spiritual beliefs and traditions reach back into our soul resonating in new and glorious pathways.

I was fortunate to be educated in a small pre-Vatican II Catholic grammar school taught by the Sisters of Notre Dame de Namur, “women with hearts as wide as the world.” The sisters dedicated their lives to God and our academic and spiritual growth. The environment was structured and our in-school time was orchestrated to the minute. In many ways we, their students, were inextricably linked to the sisters’ calling and gifts of service to God. And for short snippets of time, we were family.

“The sisters charism now, as then, is to make known God’s goodness.”
“The sisters of Notre Dame were founded by mother Julie Billiart as a teaching order. Years ago, young women touched by God with a religious vocation flocked to the various Catholic religious orders to dedicate their lives to Jesus in service to others. They willingly took vows of celibacy, poverty and obedience.”

Back in the day, the sisters wore the now infamous black habit, replete with veil and stiff white starched bib. The long rosary beads that belted their waist authoritatively dangled whenever they walked.

In our classroom prayer breaks meant change, and to a kid any break, especially recess, was a good thing. Prayer started and ended our day. I remember kneeling in prayer on our student chairs that faced a large wall of glass windows. It was nice to glimpse the beautiful hill outside of the classroom as we lifted our hearts to God. Quite simply, it gave us a break from the regimented lessons of day. 

Being introduced to nature this way as a young child maybe why I now ascribe a spiritual message to every manifestation of nature.

Interspersed throughout our daily lessens was a deep understanding of the importance of the sacraments, the consequences of our actions, and an abiding awareness and reverence for the presence of Jesus in the Eucharist. Even as young children we learned lofty concepts such as transubstantiation, the meaning of the Holy Trinity, confession and forgiveness. In addition, rituals were a large part of our religious indoctrination. We blessed ourselves with holy water when we entered the church, genuflected before the altar and when in church the girls had to wear something on their head, a scarf or veil, but something.

Recently a series of coincidences led me to reunite with my favorite and most impactful nun Sister Eleanor Saint John.  Now still vibrant and intelligent in her eighties, I could not believe I had found her and that she remembered me.  She not only remembered me, but fifty plus years later I swear she had total recall of most of the students and sisters at that time.

We live my memories not by truth.
Handily tucked away in my memories, I remembered a young Sister Eleanor as a larger than life persona with milky white flawless skin and a vibrant smile. Frozen in time she was energetic, enthusiastic, funny, and delightful.  Sister did however have a no-nonsense way about her as they all did. As students we were sometimes rambunctious, and certainly the wooden clicker over-clicked every now and then, but the main theme was focus and learning with a touch of humor and fun added in for good measure.

The scene was pre-Elvis and the Beatles. But this was our now and we were all young, beautiful and new. The sisters were commanding in their mysterious black habits. The fashion-secure girls wore dark green jumpers (from Toomey rental) and white blouses with clip on bow ties. The boys donned rather ho-hum crisp white shirt and ties. From old class photos you can however see the odd personal choice variances in their trouser selections. The world was just about to burst forth into the full-blown turmoil of the sixties revolution. But for now, this was dictated fashion at its best. This was reality.

Tiny steps large footprints
Imagine getting a chance to go back in time. That is what it was going to be like being reunited with Sister Eleanor again. I was actually nervous getting ready to knock on her door.

Sister was an integral part of my spiritual roots and now the wings of life brought me to a full circle moment to help remind me who I am.

Sister Eleanor enthusiastically met me at the door and gave me a welcoming hug. The black habit has since been replaced with street cloths adorned with her Notre Dame cross. Throughout the conversation I did catch myself saying, “Yes Sister” and realized I am still her student ready to listen attentively and take direction.

We shared how our lives evolved and Sister unbelievably rattled off the names of tons of students from my group. That total recall impressed me both because she was still brilliant, but also it was clear that each student remained in her heart as valued and important. 

Saint Julie Billiart “began the Institute of Notre Dame, which was dedicated to the education of the poor as well as young Christian girls and the training of catechists.” On one visit I brought a small flower to leave with Sister Eleanor. She quickly suggested we put it in front of Saint Julie’s statue. As I was leaving I smiled thinking how selfless and giving Sister remains to this day. She is still the teacher and I remain her dutiful student.

Now more than ever I remain grateful to Sister Eleanor and her colleagues. They perpetuated Saint Julie’s vision and I was one of the young girls from a blue collar working family who benefited from their lifelong commitment.

For year parents have been encouraged to give their children roots and wings. Developing deeply engrained spiritual roots also takes a village. On the winds of change our spiritual wings will help us both venture forth and return home even when we think the nest is empty.   

I will share more Sister Eleanor stories, but for now I want to encourage you to reconnect with your personal back-story or experience. It may help you find or redefine your spiritual identity or perhaps renew your commitment and zeal.

GlasgowAmateur / Foter.com / CC BY-SA

 

For those of us whose moms and loving grandmothers are no longer with us, at least here on earth, celebrating Mother’s Day can be undeniably bittersweet.

My mom passed away about a year and a half ago at the celebrated age of 97. Prior to her passing she lived on her own in a small housing for the elderly apartment complex. One year, two wild ducks set up camp just outside her back door. Excitedly, she wanted to capture this amazing (her word) phenomenon.

Armed with a small, green disposable camera, each week she proceeded to photograph the loving duck couple guarding their eggs, hoping to capture the much anticipated appearance of little baby ducklings. The ordinary simplicity with which my mom (Nana to some) documented this seemingly ordinary blessed event might have been wasted had it not become so meaningful after she passed.

Soon the ducklings hatched and of course her patience paid off. To mom’s supreme satisfaction she had successfully captured the burgeoning duck family on her rickety little camera. Then, off she trekked to the pharmacy to have the film developed (what a concept) so she could proudly share and display her remarkable nature series. (I think she even had two copies made of each photo.)

All kidding aside, having wild ducks nestled so close to the building was really cool at the time. But I enjoyed her enthusiasm more than anything.  I think all the elders in the complex took a nurturing stance to protect their duckling squatters. I did hear that the male duck became quite aggressive when protecting his family and defending his turf. (Go daddy duck.)

Soon mom moved to a new assisted living community continuing to thrive and live an active life. She always treasured the little stack of duck photos from the days spent in her beloved apartment complex; happy reminders of her more active years.

When mom finally went home to be with the Lord I wondered what after-death communications nature might offer our family. During the eulogy I asked, “Would it be ducks (not thinking then about the pictures) or maybe butterflies as they too had meaning?”

During the early evening hours on the day she passed I headed home.  I stopped in traffic on the top of a hill when a large flock of noisy ducks flew overhead. The sun was setting and the sky was getting dark. I knew they too were headed home. I was deeply comforted not only by the timing of their appearance, but the glorious symbolism nature manifested in the immediate hours after my mom’s death.  

In the months that followed I was in the process of emptying out my home to get it ready for sale. For some time, none of my personal possessions remained at the house and certainly there would be no items from my mother as she had never stayed there. 

One day as the clean out continued, I was feeling particularly low when I spotted one of my mom’s original duck pictures (the mommy duck) on the floor in the living room. I remember thinking, “How could this be?”

I sat holding the little picture and shed a tear knowing that nature, the universe, God and yes my mother were reaching out to comfort me and validate that life never ends. More importantly I realized that my mother would always be with me.

Several weeks later while cleaning the upstairs bedroom you guessed it, one more duck photo was sitting on the dresser. This time it was the male duck (daddy duck) photo that materialized. This instance was really a surprise. O.k. it was a shock and I felt an even deeper witness and connection had occurred.

Listen with your heart
I know coincidences happen. I know mystical, unexplained  occurrences can be explained in many objective ways. But sometimes it’s nice to just live in faith, hope and wonder. I’ve learned in my life not to seek or need signs and wonders. However, I’ve also learned to be smart enough, and open enough, to recognize and experience God’s presence in them if they appear.  

Lately, I have been drawn to write and research articles about after-death communications. I am specifically inspired by those uniquely tailored, and sometimes grossly contested, synchronicities and natural manifestations that nature orchestrates after the death of a loved one.

If you believe in subtle signs and wonders, then you may have experienced the supernatural in the natural for yourself.  Ordinary or extraordinary natural occurrences may craft messages especially for you.

If you simply witness the beauty of a flower gently opening in the morning to greet the sun, maybe that is magic enough. The world can speak to your heart in so many ways.  The trick is to be open and aware. To see the mystical in the encompassing life force Mother Nature offers every day can remind you of a loved one or speak gently to your heart and soul.

Happy Mother’s Day Mom. Thank you for your unconditional, unfailing, non-judgmental love.

“….I will not be far away, for life goes on.
So if you need me, call and I will come.
Though you cannot see or touch me, I will be near.
And if you listen with your heart, you will hear.
All of my love around you, soft and clear.” Anonymous

  Tobyotter / Foter.com / CC BY

 

“We reached the old wolf in time to watch a fierce green fire dying in her eyes. I realized then and have known ever since that there was something new to me in those eyes, something known only to her and to the mountain. I was young then and full of trigger-itch; I thought that because fewer wolves meant more deer, that no wolves would mean hunters’ paradise. But after seeing the green fire die, I sensed that neither the wolf nor the mountain agreed with such a view.” Aldo Leopold

I quickly realized on my journey as a desktop naturalist that I have little interest in the care or how-to instructions related to plants or other natural artifacts.  I do however gravitate to anything around me, natural or otherwise, that immediately imparts meaning to either my physical or spiritual well being.

Selfishly, nature has to speak directly to me quite viscerally, or I miss much of the topical or underlying manifestations that resonate so quickly with others. It’s in this quest for meaning, I was recently introduced to the work of American Ecologist Aldo Leopold.

What stopped me in my tracks was reading Aldo’s epiphany that resulted from encountering the “fierce green fire” in the wolf’s accusatory eyes that forever transformed his life and ecological commitment and goals. In her dying moments, the wolf not only convicted Aldo, but silently challenged generations to come.

Aldo began his love of nature as a child tactically categorizing his woodland discoveries. This tactical discipline later progressed to a strategic level resulting in….  “a profound impact on the environmental movement, with his ecocentric or holistic ethics regarding land. He emphasized biodiversity and ecology and was a founder of the science of wildlife management.”

Unlike Aldo I believe we are convicted many times during our lives but choose to look away. We avert our eyes lest we face what the universe and nature, human or otherwise, begs us to learn.

Think of the child who looks away when mother walks in on the latest mess.  Some dogs too (wolf counterparts) have been known to hide when their human parent is on a rampage.

In business we look to a candidate’s eyes for effective communication during an employment interview. Employee interactions as well can be quite telling. I now realize how conference calls alone, sorely limit seeing just what insight the universal equivalent of ‘the mountain’ may provide.

Throughout my life, at times I have been in Aldo’s role as victimizer and conversely, though not finished yet, in the wolf’s role as victim. Thankfully the green fire movement has layers beyond simply leveling the ecological balance between species. It is empowering my desktop musings and deeply touching my soul.

Inspired? Yes. However, I am sensitized as I strive not to be fully either Aldo with gun in hand, or the wolf, an unwitting victim of being in the wrong place.  ”Epiphany?  Not sure, but I hope so.”   

 Massimo Valiani / Foter.com / CC BY-NC

 

It’s also the self-proclaimed birthday of NatureOnNotice environmentalist Sue Snay. In true naturalist selflessness rather than wish her Happy Birthday, Sue prefers that we all celebrate Earth Day instead. I’ve learned that in the science teacher community this uncommon awareness and appreciation of Earth Day and the required call to action is quite the norm.

Me? I’d honestly prefer to see (or sea) nature from the window of a small, yellow (if available) submarine safely enclosed from any lurking squid. I fondly recall one of my daring land-expeditions observing sea life on display in ‘Nemo on Ice’ in Boston. That’s about as outdoorsy of an adventure I care to embark upon.

As I continue to represent the drudgery of the corporate office types, Sue on the other hand continues to encourage her students to march to a very different drum. Certainly we indoor types have our purpose however the environmentalists are my real heroes.

These are the folks who put together crossing guard schedules to ensure salamanders and frogs safely cross the road to get to the vernal pools. Seriously, I had never heard of such a thing. Or folks like my husband Jerry who once stopped traffic on a major highway on Cape Cod to protect an endangered-species turtle until the environmental police could arrive to save it.

What’s your NatureOnNotice inclination or archetype? 
When you see a bug or unusual crawly thing while on a nature walk you would:

1. Scream and run
2. Take a picture
3. Stop, pick it up, try to identify it, tell others you found it, and then take a picture
4. Take a picture and post on Facebook

When you see a beautiful flowering tree in the middle of the city you would:

1. Quickly walk by taking it for granted because you are thinking of a million other things
2. Think about how your tax dollars are being wasted
3. Smile knowingly because you surely can identify that tree and even better you know the best way to care for it
4. Pick some of the flowers and bring them to your home or office so you can enjoy them even longer

Just kidding! There are no wrong answers and I think most of us are a mix. At least now that I’ve seen the light: I try to avoid or limit Styrofoam; I know I am using too many paper towels; and, I stop to enjoy the flowering trees when I’m entering the bank or post office. Bugs? I’m still working on why I should squeal with delight for those. (I’ll get there.)

Happy Birthday Sue!!! I love you.

Madison Guy / Foter.com / CC BY-NC-SA

 

I’ve touched the lives of so many more than you.
I’ve garnered my inner hero so many more times than my time spent with you.
I’ve cried tears of loss and joy so many more times than with you.

I’m on this earth to do so much more.
And yet why does my spirit continue to stir unrest in my mind and soul so many more times since you went home.

Why is there something that remains unanswered in the simple duties I performed at your bedside?

Why am I left wounded and wondering?
What still lingers and prompts my spirit so many more times since you left?
In stark, open stillness I will faithfully resolve to listen to the inner promptings of my heart.

With eyes wide open I will walk in beauty and light to unearth the lessons I have still to acquire from my time with you.

I will continue to watch the hills and wait for songs of love….
for songs of you….
for eerily meaningful songs from the angels sung just for me.

Judy shared Peggy’s long journey home in Hill Songs.  Since then she’s learned that sometimes when our work as caregivers is done we fail to fully grieve.  When you think you’ve moved on in even what you deem lesser roles, sometimes God wants something new to spring into your being, spurning you to greater personal and spiritual growth.

Lel4nd / Foter.com / CC BY

 

You are three.
Today you laugh and dream of puppies and purple balloons.
Still a magical little man, you run into my heart and arms shrieking, “Grammy!”
Today you squeal with delight as Daddy shows you the best spots to splash and kick in puddles and mud.
Together you search in wide-eyed wonder for the tadpoles and fish hidden deep in the dark, shiny ponds.  “See Jack, a fish. Look quick!”
Thanks to you, everyday your Daddy gets to release his inner child.

Tomorrows bring change.
Puppies become dogs.
Purple balloons make way for more ‘interactive’ experiences.
Daddy becomes Dad.
And Grammies, well we carry you forever in our hearts on earth and in heaven.

Release all the balloons my boy! Someday you will smile at your own son, looking for your own inner child.

Dance in the puddles, laugh in the rain and nurture him now.

 

Daveybot / Foter.com / CC BY-NC-SA

 

During some of my fondest Camelot years, I watched my husband Jerry carefully tend to our yard on Cape Cod: he was clearly the nature enthusiast. He entered into early retirement reluctantly, but was finally able to devote time to his passion: cultivating flowers, trees and plants of all kinds.

Jerry would routinely preach about how I traveled and worked, way too much. And, of course he was right. I did not stop and enjoy the beauty of nature, at least without his prompting.

I’m told that leopards don’t change their spots. So I continued to breathe life into our finances, while Jerry in his indomitable style added nature into the mix.

I’d love to look down from my office window and watch him at work in the gardens. But the front lawn, or lack of one, was another matter. The soil on Cape Cod can be a bit sandy so you won’t have lush green grass unless you opt to add rich loam or pay for some serious lawn care.

Each time I’d return to the Cape from my travels I’d notice the front lawn had a larger growing population of white, wild daisies inching out the pitiful grass. One summer I realized that daisy dominance was no accident. Jerry was using a weed-whacker mower artfully mowing around the daisies.

Ever yin to his yang, I grimaced, “No!”
I soon learned that Jerry loved the small white flowers so much he was an accomplice with nature perpetuating the overgrowth of our front yard. I can remember thinking, “That’s ridiculous!” How can he continue to ignore basic landscaping esthetics simply to enjoy and worse publically showcase those silly flowers? After all I thought, “What would people think?”

We lived on a major route and one day there was a knock at the door. That alone was a bit disconcerting, as our friends would always use the back door. I could hear Jerry speaking to a woman and I thought it must be a sales call. Later that day he said, “See, some people really like the white daisies.” It seems a tourist passing by thought our front lawn was so beautiful she wanted to know if she could take a picture of the daisies. Someone wanted to photograph our eclectic front yard?

I’ve come to realize that I was so worried about the zigzag lawn mowing and non-traditional esthetics of our yard I forgot that beauty truly is in the eye of the beholder.

After Jerry went home to be with the Lord, of course I began to trim the yard and eliminate some of what I thought were excessive plantings. The new lawn guy cuts the front yard down to the bare bones.

Today when I look out on the barren landscape, despite all odds, an occasional white daisy will push its way up into the lawn. Now, instead of looking for the trimmers, I rush to get the camera and photograph any and all remaining remnants and memories of that precious time.

Like the woman who knocked on the door that day, I too am beginning to see and fully appreciate each and every pure white daisy that glistens in the sun and touches my heart and soul.

I regret every day I failed to notice nature in its glory and at its fullest. I guess I’m making up for lost time. My NatureOnNotice blog is fueled by a philosophy that is driven by hindsight. It’s a lifestyle I’d like to share with those, like me, who never really take enough time to smell the roses or see the daisies. If it comes from the heart, I guess it’s never too late to love, experience and share God’s beauty.

Photo credit: FuturePresent. / Foter.com / CC BY-SA

 

In this special NatureOnNotice interview, my close friend Judy shared a poignant, personal account of her elderly Aunt Peggy’s passing. During the interview Judy explained, while she was deeply aware of the natural beauty around her at the time, she is only now beginning to understand how much the quiet watchfulness unfolding outside the health care center’s window, comforted her, brilliantly illuminated, and yes, may have given deeper insight into Peggy’s final hours.

My soul yearns
All of her life Aunt Peggy was dubbed a gentle soul destined to live her life with dignity and reliable service. However, unlike so many of the pre-boomer generation, Peggy never married. That choice or happenstance drastically altered her purpose, existence and persona. Admit it. We all know some awesome aunts and uncles who, though integral to our lives and family, somehow remain on the fringe of life in so many ways.

In time, all fringe populations expand
You only need dash through the hospital or nursing home halls and gaze into the dark, blank stares of our memory-impaired heroes to better grasp how this non-descript fringe invites first only a few, and ultimately …the many. Similar to the grace of God, this quiet fringe-group calling and indoctrination is also no respecter of persons.

When visiting the dreaded long-term care facilities, I used to think I was rushing through because of the depressing array of wheel chairs lined up in the halls, or the occasional moaning sounds echoing from rooms on nursing sections whimsically named Gardenia lane or the Rosebud floor. It is interesting how an infusion of nature, even if only descriptive, imparts hope.

Not true. I was rushing through the halls because if I moved fast enough maybe I wouldn’t be touched with a fringe existence. As the fringe deepens, the sound of laughter lessens. The recognition and ability to interact is all but gone. But through it all the eyes of our loved ones continue to reflect the inner markers on their journey homeward. Often it’s those deep, dark, lifeless eyes that bemuse our sorrow and make the years of handholding so mysterious and lonely.

Judy and her family spent six years with Aunt Peggy at the health care center helplessly standing by as dementia stole her memories and altered her perception of reality. Six years managing the financial payments, the endless medical decisions and short visits to check on her so-called progress. All the while, the memories of Judy’s youth were fading; replaced with the new weight of duty and loving resolve.

One day Judy was struck by the beauty of several deer peacefully and delicately walking on the snow covered hill outside of Aunt Peggy’s room. She commented to one of the aides how beautiful the winter scene was outside of the window. Seemingly indifferent or impervious to nature’s magnificent backdrop, the aide simply nodded and went about her duties. When we are entrenched in the caregiver role, it is so difficult to stop and see the world around us. Our singular focus and dedication is what is needed at the time.

During that time for many of us, like Judy or the aide going about her job, it’s just another part of our life’s purpose. Yet, I can’t help correlating our aging loved ones deep, dark eyes to the mysterious, watchful doe eyes of the gentle deer running free on the hills outside of Aunt Peggy’s room.

The dictionary defines doe eyes as: having wide-open, innocent-appearing eyes, or having wide, trusting eyes resembling those of a young deer.

My soul longs for you
It was late on a cold, February afternoon when Aunt Peggy closed her trusting doe eyes and went home to the Lord. The sun was setting on the brilliant white snow. As Judy gazed outside of the window the resident family of deer seemed to watch. They were so close she could see their dark hooves making footprints in the snow as they rambled by.

That day, deeply touched, by God and nature, Aunt Peggy, Judy, and the deer all went home.

As a deer thirsts for streams of water, so I thirst for you, God. Psalm 42:1 NCV
Nature supports and nurtures us all if we are open to the world around even in the darkest times. It is our hope in this heartfelt sharing that all loving caregivers better understand their tenderness has a role in the larger scheme of our unfolding universe. Amidst all the pain, suffering, loneliness and loss, may you be uplifted each day, fully aware and mindful of the beauty, mystery and majesty of life in all its stages.

Photo credit: CaptPiper / Foter.com / CC BY-NC