a mommy-son date to the nutcracker.
My Life is a Tree, Not a Path
re posted, with permission, by Heather Farrell (women in the scriptures)
sorry for the single spacing. typepad is being difficult.
I feel grounded
choked down by laundry, children, dishes, covenants
choices already made
Time is racing past me
the march of degrees, careers, travel, experience
steadily passing me by
like hikers on a mountain trail.
They get closer to the top,
I am so far behind
How will I ever catch up?
So I start planning.
A master's degree
or a PhD?
(ancient studies, perhaps)
A career?
(a midwife)
Sounds nice.
My heart starts out,
that narrow, aspiring climb.
I feel the rush of an adventure,
the exhilaration of a calling,
and the allure of that high mountain peak.
Then I hear a familiar whisper,
the hurried steps of little feet
and I see that there is not enough room on that path
for more
Someone will be left behind
delayed
--and then--
forgotten.
So instead,
I stay.
Sending my roots deeper and deeper,
nourished
by the lives of those who have gone before.
I stretch,
--painfully--
my branches reaching higher
and higher
into the future.
Welcoming all who wish to rest,
giving life,
learning,
(the librarian knows me by name)
growing,
(still typing long after everyone has gone to bed )
and expanding.
Let the climbers pass me by.
My life is not a path
to be followed, planned or reached.
My life is a tree
rooted,
firm,
and
constant
My branches soar into the heavens
and reach wide as eternity.
That mountain peak is already
far below me,
and as I glance upwards
I see that my possibilities for growth
are endless.
"I sat this afternoon to read during the boys’ nap. I was going through the botanical theory book and while I was reading I remembered something Blue Horse said to me back before Gilbert was born. He said wisdom is not a path, it is a tree. At the time I was too busy to give it much thought, so I nodded politely but didn’t pay much attention. Now I see that he was surely right. I have been sad almost a whole year, thinking that taking that test was somehow the end of my learning and that not having that as a possibility in my future left a big empty spot in my life that the children and the ranch didn’t fill. But my life is not like that, it is a tree, and I can stay in one place and spread out in all directions, and I can do more learning shading this brood of mine that if I was all alone. I declare, it is like some other part of me made up some rules about happiness and I just went along with them without thinking. My heart in lightened so much that I am amazed at how sad I felt for so long.”
- Sarah Prine in "These is my Words: The Diary of Sarah Agnes Prine, 1881-1091” by Nancy E. Turner, pg. 318.
i emailed heather, asking for her permission to post this poem a couple of months ago.
it struck me to the core. there are times when i get overwhelmed with waves of wanting to do and be more, and feeling conflicted and sometimes, even stunted with the path i have chosen.
i shared that i loved these is my words with heather, and she responded that she had heard about it, but had decided to read it after seeing it on my blog. what a beautiful cycle of inspiration. (and look at this beautiful gift her husband made her, inspired by this poem).
i've been getting those itches again. the 'am i doing enough?' 'am i important enough?' am i following my dreams?' and the 'i'm approaching 34 and i am never going to be a movie star and why on earth would that make me sad' thoughts (yes, i may have seen ashton kutcher at the sundance film festival last night). and i'm also feeling a little torn, perhaps brought on my my new year's making resolutions frenzy.
and i'm reminded of boxes and balance what sister beck said about balance. and my own lone tree. and something that has come to me over and over again in the past couple of weeks--a deep gratitude for the things i have recorded. i have used my own blog to write talks, lessons, a letter and to remind myself of answers already given. a true blessing.
isn't tim so cute? aren't my parents so beautiful? seriously, good genes--that i was given--and that i'm passing on:).