Taste, and See

On a wintry Saturday, I baked cinnamon maple scones at our cabin, using a new-to-me recipe. They were so yummy, I was eager to share them at our church potluck breakfast the following morning. But I coughed through the night, and it became clear neither I nor my husband would be attending church that Sunday. I was disappointed to miss blessing my church friends with my flavorful scones.

Before driving down the mountain, we parked our car in town to take a short walk around the lake. Two ladies we recognized sat at a picnic table across the road. “Do you want some scones?” I yelled through my mask with my hoarse, raspy voice. 

“Absolutely, yes, we do!” Kathy and Donna replied.

My husband retrieved the container holding the scones from the car and carried the treats across the road to our excited friends. “Take two!” I called over.

“Can we have three each?” they hollered back.

We continued our walk around the lake, and upon arriving back to our car, our friends let us know how much they enjoyed the delicious pastries. I don't know whose joy was more full, Kathy and Donna's in savoring the scones, or mine, in getting to share them. 

There’s a taste-and-see simplicity I experience when I share what I’ve baked. I don’t have weighty expectations on myself to “be somebody” in the kitchen, to become known as “Diane the baker.”  It is as simple as, “Here’s something I’ve made that is good. I hope it blesses you.” 

I was due to deliver a set of six benedictions this week for the Black Barn, an online community I belong to. I’d written and rewritten many and could not decide which ones to submit. The angst I experienced squeezed the joy out of writing and anticipating blessing others with my offerings. I tell myself, oh, but this is not a scoop of dough; it’s a scoop of my heart. Of course it’s going to be painful.

Perhaps my “of course” is off course.

I learned recently the word "companion" is derived from Latin and, at its core, it denotes someone who is present to you "with bread." As we are present to each other on this journey, we offer life-giving nurture and enjoyment, friend to friend. We bring who we are and what God has given us to offer. How good it is to have someone fully present to you; how much better when together you “break bread,” when together you unwrap and savor the good gifts God has given you. Together, we celebrate the Giver of the gifts. 

Again and again my thoughts return to the simplicity of baking something then sharing it, with a spirit of, “Taste and see the goodness!” 

I wonder what it would be like to experience such freedom as I weave words together and then share them. I wonder what kind of companionship I could bring to others, free from self-judgment about what I bring to the table. And I wonder whether God is inviting me to taste this kind of freedom, and to see that it is good.

diane mann, 2022

Postcards, From Home

My husband, upon delivering my coffee in bed this morning, noticed my new, summery PJs. Drawings of mountains, postcards, beaches, bikes, and written messages decorate the sleepwear in pleasant pastels.

"Hey, you've got bikes on your pajamas!" he noted, which seemed significant because we just purchased a bike for me.

After he left the bedroom, my eyes and heart landed on words written on my pajama pants: "Wish you were here."

The sentiment of that longing, this place we are in, fitting. Words scribbled across millions of postcards delivered over the world, now so weighty, so...wishful.

There will be no big trips for me this year, but today I sit in gratitude for what I've been given, here, at home. I do this most mornings, asking God to show me what to remember to give thanks for. What does He want me to not miss? What does he want me to share with others?

Today, in my mind, I step into a souvenir shop at a vacation destination. Eyeing the postcard rack, I seek a picture reflective of the gifts of yesterday, here, while you, my friends and family, are not here. You more than likely are nestled into your own homes, seeking shelter from the virus, searching for what is lovely and meaningful in your surroundings. My eyes rest on a couple of scenes that reflect my time here, on this summer non-vacation. 

Can this be adventure, this time looking longer and with more love at the space I've occupied for decades? Is it worth writing home about? Or in this case, writing from home about?

In my journal I draw both sides of a blank postcard. I fill in one side with a friend's name and address, adding a postage stamp. What would I tell her, about yesterday, in this cramped writing area on the postcard? I describe my time on the back patio last night, the twinkling lights, the fountain running, a music playlist offering a summer vibe. "Wish I could share this with you," I write, then sign my name.  On the photo side of the postcard, I etch out my rendition of the idyllic scene from last night.

Next I write to Paula, my sister who lives in Canada, so very far from me. I draw a bicycle on the front then write on the back, "You won't believe it, but I bought a bike! It is the brightest green you ever saw. The best thing is, there is a motor to assist my pedaling and to help me zoom up hills! How I wish you were here so I could share it with you. We'd have so many laughs!" 

My stationery drawer holds several postcards selected from past vacations, postcards I never sent. Some I even wrote on but never took time to mail. There's one thanking my mom's friend Shirley for baking our wedding cake! We bought it on our honeymoon in Alaska 37 years ago. How surprised Shirley would be to receive that card now!

I wonder tomorrow, when I reflect upon today, what memory I will want to celebrate by sharing it with another. 

Yes, "Adventure awaits," and "Adventure is out there," but is it not also right now, right here, waiting to be had? 

Yes, I say, yes. 

Whatever joy this day offers, whatever memories it etches that beg to be remembered, there will be some experiences that make me think of you. My heart will reach across the miles, with a bit of an ache, wishing you were here.

Welcome

The Black Barn at Maplehurst

I see the temptation in her eyes
To blur over my story
I'm taking too long to tell
To this, my dear friend
Who listens so well

There's this book
And an author
Who was led to a place
She talks about it in the book
She created a monthly care package
I subscribed

The only thing keeping my friend
Engaged in our conversation
Is my passion
The light in my eyes
The tones of delight
I struggle
To describe anything linearly
But I try

There's a real barn
Where retreats and classes happen
Where good things take place
Spiritual things
Creative things
It's a place
Built with a dream
To welcome people
To celebrate life and art and faith

I signed up for the care package
And was invited to the virtual Black Barn
A trial of sorts
Before the online Barn doors opened wide
It's a place of caring intention
A slower, more spacious place

There I receive
There I give
Conversations are created
Works of art celebrated
Benedictions given
Infusing good words, blessings
Into and over me

I've come to care
For those I've met there
In a way that says
"I will carry your burdens with you,"
And, "I will celebrate and pay witness to what you are noticing."

Most live far from me
But have become close
Soul friends
Let's-grow friends
Let's-water-and-tend-to-this-thing-
and-wait-to-see-what-happens friends

Someone called us cultivators
No one has ever referred to me as a cultivator
Not until now
But we were invited to pour into this space
Even as we were being poured into

We are witnessing others enter the barn doors
We are cheering them
Ushering them in
With hopes they too will find something
Very Special here

"Thank you," I say
To my listening friend
"I know I talk about the Black Barn a lot!"
She tells me to talk about it all I want
How she enjoys hearing about it

Look who came through the door today
My patient friend Tammi!
My heart jumps a little
Not true, it jumps way more than a little
My body follows, taking a little leap
I run to greet her

Welcome to the Black Barn
Take a look around
Have a seat
Receive all that is here
For you


Diane Mann 2020

I Think of Ray

It's been over half a decade now since I met him. I know only a handful of facts about him. And few pictures of that time we crossed paths remain in my mind.

My husband and I approached a camp area on a backpacking loop in the Sierras after our first day of hiking. We would spend four nights and five days making our way through the wilderness. "Welcome!" bellowed a happy, hairy, bare-bellied man who had just emerged from the river. As he dried himself off, he expressed how lucky we all were to be camping in such a beautiful area and pointed out places we could set up our tent. It was as though we were checking into a five-star resort and he was the check-in attendant. We shortly found out his name was Ray—Ray, the camp greeter, we dubbed him. Ray was jolly, grateful, and Ray adored this trail (coincidentally named Rae Lakes Loop).

I am an unlikely backpacker, the one people see, do a quick adjustment in their minds from what a typical backpacker looks like, then most often throw out a word of encouragement, "You can do it! You're almost there! Keep going!" Not super strong, not young, not REI-ad worthy. Ray looked even less like he belonged on the trail than I did. Health and fitness did not appear a priority for him, but hiking this trail was. He and his buddies, Lou and Brian, trekked the 42-mile-loop once a year.

Sometimes we would pass the threesome while they rested on the side of the trail, and sometimes they would pass us. Ray and Lou lost Brian one evening, and Brian carried their cooking equipment, so my husband heated up their food for them and they camped with us.

While Ray's Top Ramen was boiling, he told us about his grandfather, who used to lead a pack of mules over this same pass in the early 1900s. This trail held much meaning for Ray.

Glen Pass, 11,926 feet above sea level, 6,000 feet above where we started!

While we didn't hike with Ray and his buddies, per se, our trip did parallel theirs some, as we often ended up camping in the same area in the evenings. Each night Ray was the last to arrive to the campsite, while others wondered whether he would make it before nightfall. He always did.

On Day 3, we climbed Glen Pass, 11,926 feet above sea level, the most difficult part of the trail—steep, rocky, exhausting. Whatever strength one had, this ascent demanded it all and then some. Brent, Lou, and Brian were way ahead, followed by me then Ray. I didn't want to leave Ray behind so purposefully slowed my pace, once even hiking back down a ways to sit with him as he rested.

Perching ourselves on rocks alongside the trail, we sat to catch our breath. Ray reached into his left shirt pocket and pulled out a brightly colored package. "Have you ever tried these energy chews?" he asked. "They're really good," and handed me one. I savored the bright-orange chewy goodness he gave me. I don't know whether the treat had a placebo effect or the vitamins B-12 and C it contained really had their promised results, but I did receive energy to keep going after the rest and the tasty burst of deliciousness Ray shared with me.

Several breaks and refreshments later, we, with elation, reached the top of the pass, where we high-fived each other, drooled over the majestic views, and snapped photos of ourselves, each one rejoicing in the victorious moment.

It's been years since I've met Ray and his friends. Our promises to keep in touch through email fell flat. But when I'm exhausted while doing something difficult that seems beyond my own strength, I think of Ray, the value of rest and camaraderie, and that orange energy chew.

But mostly I think of Ray.

For My Sunshine Friend (A Poem for Sheryl)

Today I wish you sunshine
The kind of day that hugs you
With its warmth
Inviting you to stay
   to rest
   to ponder
   to watch
For things you've never seen before

The kind of day
Whose breezes
Bring comfort and delight
Carrying the waves, the clouds
Colorful kites
And your cares
Far away
So far away

The kind of day wherein
Birds soar high above
Then park themselves
Before you
Giving you a front-row seat
To their busy play
And joy-filled chatter

The kind of day
That lingers long
After night has come
And the favored season passes
Because it reached
Deep inside you
With its bright
Generous light

So when the storms come
And the winds
Turn bitter cold
Something
Somewhere
In your soul
Is still warm
And knows love

Today I wish you
Warm, inviting, exploring
Comforting, delightful, playful
Outreaching, generous, bright
Loving
Sunshine
Like the kind of friend you are
To me.

Diane Mann, 2014

Celebration

A green balloon

Or two

A pinetree-shaped

Sugar cookie

Or a card perhaps

Yes, a card

With a mountain scene

A meadow

A bird

A meadow lark

Singing its flute song

A stone path

Peaks

Valleys

Harsh, steep trails

Scorching summer sun

Weight, pain

Flight

Rest

Humor, so much humor

Despite the agony

Because of the agony

The journey I

Observed

From a distance

An onlooking friend

Cheering

Letting her story

Change me

How do I celebrate

The beauty

The life

The victory

How do I say

My spirit

Is stirred

I smile with you

Share a meal

Together

Laugh hysterically

And weep a bit

As you paint a picture

With words

Of the path

You walked the trail

You climbed

The people

You met

With gratitude

I receive

The raingear

You lend

Knowing I too

Will need

Protection

You cannot hike

The trail

For me

A twinkle in your

Eye conveys you know

It will be hard for me

As well

I can learn much

From observing

You

But must go

Myself

Must go

Learn the lessons

Learned by those

Who dare to

Step

Where they are led

A profound wonder

It is

To be led

To follow

The desire planted

In the heart

The deepest part

Of one's being

My friend has been

So brave as to listen

To the song

To the spirit

Within who

Leads her

She now sings

In return

A song

A meadow song

A tune unmatched

In beauty

Unprecedented

In grace

Life-giving

Grace

To Carla, aka Meadowlark

With so much love

From

Diane (yet to have an aka:)

A Good Work

Each week my friend Mary comes faithfully to my house to help me organize my life. Sometimes we just freshen up the environment, put things back where they belong and just make my home a more nurturing place for me and my loved ones. Other times we attack projects -- wall painting, picture hanging, window coverings. One very gratifying aspect about my time with Mary is that she loves to see a work finished to completion. About three-fourths of the way through laying floor tiles in my bathroom, when we discovered half the tiles we had purchased did not match the other half, I was sure the task would have to be put off until the next week. But no. We drove over to Lowe's, exchanged the tiles and plodded through the rest of the job. Surely enough, when she left, the floor was completed.

As I spent time with God today just pouring my filled-with-concerns heart out to Him, He gently brought to mind this part of His word: "He who began a good work in you will be faithful to complete it until the day of Christ Jesus." I spent time savoring and absorbing each aspect of this much-needed and precious promise. Fully capable, putting the earth into orbit, holding all things together God Himself began a project right here in me, in my life! He will not fail to finish all that He began in me. I am the work of His hands, and He does not walk away from what He starts.

Oh, God, Thank You for this reminder that it is always You at work in me. I'm not my own project, thankfully, but Yours! You are everything I'm not -- consistent, faithful, loving, completely true and right and, of course, all-knowing. You do not give up on me and see me as a hopeless cause. Have your perfect, complete way with me, my Father.

Curious, Indeed!

"I found the cabinet I've been looking for!" my friend Sheryl exclaimed to me a few days ago." And guess what? It even has a light in it!" Today I rode with her to a furniture store to pick up her new curio cabinet, a place to display her Precious Moments figurines and various items of beauty and value that she owns.

What does a person display? That which he is wants to hide? Commonplace items? No. He displays that which is precious to him: pictures, heirlooms, objects of meaning, items of value. Look in a person's curio cabinet, and you can find out more about what he values.

In a jewelry store beautiful gems and metals are displayed on blackdrops of black velvet with just the right light shining on them so beautifully that their splendor is brilliantly displayed.

I read in Isaiah that as we trade our ashes for beauty, our mourning for gladness, and our despair for praise, we then display the splendor of God.

Somehow -- and I do mean somehow because it remains a mystery to me -- as we trade the ickiness of our lives for all that God offers us, we become a display of how amazing He is. God puts me on display to show the world His goodness, power, beauty and love. Against the backdrop of the darker times in my life but sitting in the light of Who He is, His glory is revealed.

As He shows Himself to me, He then shows Himself through me. His glory is a revealing of Himself. To me. Through me.

To be cherished by God. Precious to Him. Reflective of Him. Even a way to point others to Him. It's all so curious to me.

Lord, Thank you for the beautiful exchange you offer! My ashes for a crown of beauty, my mourning for Your gladness, my utter despair for Your praise! And the result of it all, bringing You glory. That You would bless me and use me in such a way is so beyond me. Nowhere-near-ordinary You, God, can take what is common and make it into something splendid. Keep doing that in my life as I keep seeking You. I will keep looking to You so that any beauty I display is a reflection of Your magnificence and not something I try to create on my own.

"... and provide for those who grieve in Zion-- to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the LORD for the display of his splendor." Isa 61:3(b), NIV