A Wasteland Turning

We have outgrown our five-seater car, with the seven of us thigh-to-thigh, baby bouncing on my lap in the front seat. Neighbors grin when they see Swede’s blond hair flying and chubby hands gripping the window, trying desperately to ride like a dog in the front seat with her tongue wagging. The wrestling to pull her back inside is a game she likes very much.  Tonight as we drive home, however, the kids are hushed. Our windows are rolled down to keep the glass from steaming up and rain pelts unlucky arms and foreheads. The kids are half-giggles and half-moans. I throw back an extra baby blanket for them to…

I shouldn’t have checked the news on my phone before bed. The headlines grimly told of the country’s lack of oxygen and the mass cremations that mirror a horror movie. A grown man sobbed like a child to the reporter, desperate to find a hospital bed for his sick mother. The night turned a couple shades darker and I thought I could hear my children crying. Coughing, perhaps. My mind was off the man and onto my five treasures tucked in their beds.  I closed my eyelids and worried alone.  The weekends are quiet with COVID restrictions. Everything is closed and the streets are silent, causing my mind to recall…

I am changing and it’s as unnerving as the multiplying lines around my eyes. During our first year living in the Himalayas, a sour loneliness resided in my stomach at all times and often moved up my neck, into my throat, and burst through my being in the form of hot tears and angry words. For legitimate reasons, I was grieving. Like a child, I screamed, “It’s not fair!” and “It hurts!” over and over, in hopes that my Father would send an emergency jet in to rescue me.   But my Father seemed far off. He was somewhere else. Likely, killing the fattened calf for my brother and fulfilling…

I thought it would be spring when we stepped out of the plane, but the steady sunshine and heavy humidity had us all shedding coats like used snake skins. The air smelled familiar. A mix of dust and pollution, oil frying, and the welcome scent of blossoming flowers. Carrying our bags and children like sacks of potatoes, we jammed into two tiny taxis and headed for home. I made small talk with the young taxi driver in shy Hindi and a familiar pit lodged in my belly. The head of a goddess glued to the mantel bobbed as the driver swerved from cows and oblivious pedestrians. The air felt good…

“Those look yummy. Are they good here?” The woman in line asked as I picked up my order of onion rings.  “Yes, they are really good,” I smiled back at her. I sat down with my hot A&W parcel, excited to take that first bite of crunchy, fried onion.  The woman in line got her order and sat at a table across from me. I saw her open her bag as excitedly as I had mine. Maybe she got the onion rings, too. As she bit into something delicious, I recognized her anticipation and enjoyment. Her body seemed to sigh and relax. She ate, slouched and comforted.  A few rings…

Walking into the pool area, I checked for an open lane to swim. I spotted the one against the far wall and chose it for the same reason I hug the edge of my bed at night and never take the last cookie on the plate. It’s a comfort to be out of people’s way on occasion. In the lane next to me, a chiseled youth in a Speedo warmed up his limbs in circus-like positions. Next to him, were two high school girls sharing a lane, cutting through the water like twin knives sliding through softened butter.  I slid into the water, suddenly aware of my leg stubble and…

“The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad; the desert shall rejoice and blossom like the crocus; it shall blossom abundantly and rejoice with joy and singing.” Isaiah 35:1-2 There’s a crocus in the garden It’s hiding in the snow The ground is white and barren Who knew life lay below? Unlikeliest of cradles A birth against the odds Golden are its petals  And all the earth applauds.  Why plant me in this ground, I cry I want to stretch my legs Where is life within this plot?  I am miserable in my lot. Snow is not what I expected Gold to blossom from Green grass I would have…

This afternoon, I scanned the 20-minute youtube yoga videos for the one that packed the most punch. I found one that promised a bucket load of good for my brain and body. I can have all this in 20 minutes? Great. I was ready for my tensions to lift and my mood to be elevated. I breathed slowly and deeply with the chipper instructor. It felt nice. However, the breaths didn’t go deep enough. Turns out the havoc of my sin runs deeper than any breath can reach. It was healthy for me to move my body and breathe intentionally, yet the instructor didn’t warn me that I would be…

I read Little House on the Prairie books to remember the dignity of sweeping my floor. How else does one survive the pages upon pages on how to make headcheese, fashion bullets, and construct a log cabin, if not for the sanity it brings to daily chores? The books have endured for a long time, not because they are fantastical, but because they show the beauty in surviving.  The family makes it through the winter because of the canned vegetables and meat stored away. With Spring, comes deep cleaning and a fresh feel to the home. No, the book has not turned me into a Pioneer woman. And I don’t…