Crucian Food

It was an easy expectation while we were planning to come and getting settled here that since St. Croix is part of the US it was mostly the same as living on the mainland except more beautiful, more relaxed and in the warmth of perpetual summer.  Now that we’ve been here a while, we know that expectation was simply false. There is a winter here and we’ve actually felt chilly once or twice when the temps dipped to the low 70s.  Yes, we use the American dollar at the store, and there are many similarities to America here, but over all, life on this island is certainly not the “American” life we were used to.  We drive on the left side of the road – scary at first especially at intersections. People speak English here, but they also speak Crucian (which is the word meaning all things Saint Croix!). In addition to the musical, lilting and fluid accent people have here, their vocabulary and the way they put words together can also be very different from standard English. I say huh? quite often.

Food here is also different. A walk through the grocery store confirms this.  There are bins in the produce section of the grocery that have UEOs in them (Unidentified edible objects), the meat section is interesting because often the cuts of chicken and beef are different and there are parts that we’ve never seen in a store before (chicken feet, ox tails…). The beautiful thing is that nearly any person standing near me in the store when I discover something new is willing to name it for me and give me ideas about how it’s eaten. Food, then,  can present problems, not for me as much as for Karl, who is a somewhat picky eater who doesn’t eat fish or many fruits or vegetables and who doesn’t always have an adventurous culinary appetite. He is willing, though, to buy a UEO and then go home and Google recipes so that we can try it. In this manner we’ve eaten breadfruit, egg fruit, sugar apples, green papaya, and casava (which has cyanide in it and has to be cooked just right.  Yay, we didn’t die!)   We have tried a few things from local vendors such as conch salad, pates (meat filled pastries, yes!) and of course johnny cakes, Karl loves johnny cakes! More complicated Crucian dishes have gone untried for the most part, though.

Imagine how excited I was, then, when I attended a women’s retreat on Good Friday and realized that the lunch was a carry-in affair.  Bliss!  The retreat itself was wonderful and the speaker for both the morning and afternoon sessions had a lot to say that really challenged me, the worship music was terrific and the friendships I am making are precious. But the food!  The food was a delight because I had the opportunity to taste a wide range of Crucian food, and you can be sure that the ladies of my church put their best foot forward with what they brought.  I’ve now eaten:  chop-chop (ocra, spinach and other veggies chopped and cooked together), salt fish (dried salted fish, peppers, tomatoes all cooked together. Mostly served over rice), lentils (a side dish all to themselves.  I’ve only had them in other things before), provision (a dish of cooked breadfruit, plantains, potatoes, sweet potatoes, eddoes and dasheen (more of those UEOs in the store -they are roots),   ducana (sweet potatoes and coconut, cinnamon and nutmeg together in a sort of loaf. Sweet and yummy!).  Added to the fun of discovery was the fun the ladies had introducing me to the dishes and explaining what was in each one.  Every day I learn something or experience something new here on our island, and I thank God every day for His love of infinite variety!

Categories: Frederiksted Baptist Church, Living on St Croix | 4 Comments

Give us Barabbas

Yesterday was Easter, and I’ve been thinking about Barabbas.  Barabbas isn’t very well known.   He’s mentioned in all four of the Gospels, but all we know about him is that he was in a Roman prison for murder and insurrection.  We don’t know if he was the leader of the uprising or if he actually did the killing.  It could be that he was a hardened criminal, committed to the destruction of Roman rule with a deep hatred for the establishment; a murderer with no feeling of remorse for the death he caused. Or. He could be a young man who got caught up in a street demonstration with a group of his friends, bored and out looking for something to do. When the rocks started flying and a Roman soldier was hit in the temple and killed, maybe he was horrified.  Maybe he was the geeky kid down the block who when along with the cool guys to a demonstration and didn’t run fast enough when things got out of hand. We just don’t know.  But what we do know is that the Jews in Jerusalem knew him. When Pilate met with Jesus, he went out to the crowd and told them he could find nothing serious enough against Jesus to justify all the fuss.  In fact, Pilate had heard of Jesus and and looked forward to meeting him.  He’d hoped he could see Jesus perform a miracle.

Everyone including Pilate was surprised then when the crowd began chanting for the release of Barabbas instead of Jesus.  Pilate tried to dissuade them, but in the end he did what the crowd asked.  He released Barabbas and sent Jesus to be executed.  Picture this. It’s Passover and the city is crowded. Emotions are high.  We don’t know how long Barabbas had been in prison, but even if it was a short time, it felt like a long time.  All of a sudden, the guards come for him and he may have been thinking, “Yup, this is it, I’m done for.” Instead, he is given his watch and the change from his pocket back, he’s given his street clothes and sneakers and he’s released.  His mom is there crying and laughing. So are his uncles and friends.  They all go back to to the house and have a late lunch, thankful for the surprising turn of events that freed him.

Now consider three days later.  Barabbas has been sleeping peacefully each night in his own bed. He’s rested and the bruises he got in prison are fading.  He starts this Monday morning thinking about all that’s happened to him and wondering where he goes from here.  Maybe he is planning on doing a little job hunting today.  Then the news starts circulating.  “Did you hear? That guy they executed in your place? That Jesus character?  His body is missing and they are saying he’s risen from the dead!”  As the weeks go by, Barabbas hears more stories.  He listens in the temple courtyard when Jesus’ apostles start explaining that Jesus has been resurrected and why.  He reads the account in the newspaper about His ascension.  He has friends that were there when Peter spoke to the crowd and the Holy Spirit descended and he realizes that Jesus died in his place and rose for him.  Literally. Jesus occupied the cross that was intended for Barabbas and died there even while Barabbas and his family were celebrating. Can you imagine how that felt? Can you imagine how humbled and thankful and awed Barabbas felt at this miraculous turn of events?

I hope you can.  I hope I can.  My name isn’t Barabbas, but it could and should be.  Jesus died on MY CROSS. Jesus died and I go out to lunch and because of His sacrifice have nothing to fear in the future.  Jesus died for me and for you.  Wow.  Happy Easter Monday!

Categories: Random thoughts on being me | 2 Comments

Green Pastures

The 23rd Psalm is familiar and comfortable.  It is comforting.  Jesus is our shepherd. (Okay, this part makes me a little uncomfortable because what I know about sheep is limited, but mostly I know that they are dumb.  I like that Jesus is the shepherd, but why do I have to be the sheep?)  Anyway.  It is comfortable because the chapter tells me that Jesus is actively caring for me.  He’s restoring me, leading me, guiding me, with me, preparing for me, anointing me. Wow. That’s a pretty amazing list.

When I think about or hear verse two, normally I think of a scene etched in my head.  Probably ten years ago, Karl and I were riding our four-wheelers up in the Sierra Madre Mountains above Encampment, Wyoming, my favorite place in the world. We were just above the Rudefeha Mine site.  It was August.  The days were warm, the high, alpine wildflowers were blooming, there were wild raspberries and strawberries to be found when you were lucky and looking carefully.  The sky was blue with puffy clouds floating above.  As we came to a small curve and then a shallow crossing where the Haggarty Creek runs over the road, a sheep herder was grazing his flock. For the most part, the group was bedded down in the shade for an afternoon nap. They were, in fact, not in want. They’d been led beside still-(ish) waters, and were lying in green pastures. Even the big scary Great Pyrenees sheep dogs were lying happily in the shade resting. They were being restored. The contentment was palpable.

We crossed the creek and left them behind, but the scene and the indelible definition of Psalms 23 remained and still remains with me.

Fast forward to yesterday.  First off, we awoke yesterday morning and were greeted by a deer lying peacefully, relaxed and completely happy in our back yard. Now, please understand that we’ve just sort of begun working on that backyard, and for the most part it is a flat section behind the house full of weeds that we mow in order to keep them in check and surrounded by scrubby/ weedy and overgrown trees.  It’s actually pretty ugly and it stresses me out as a result. Yesterday morning, it contained three ladders that Karl is using while he puts a roof on the shipping container that he’s turning into a shop and there were several pieces of plywood, an extension cord, and a swimsuit from Saturday drying on the clothesline.  Definitely ugly.  Not, in fact, even close to a green pasture.  I took pictures of the deer, though, and I cropped out the piece of plywood he was sitting beside, and we were thankful for the gift of seeing it.

Then we went to church.  Pastor John’s opening prayer included these words: “Bring us, Father God, into the pasture of Your Word so that we can know you deeper.”  Huh? I’ve thought about that prayer. So let me get this straight, God… I can be in Your green pastures even if I’m sitting on a rough and weedy, ugly place? Or I can be in Your green pasture sitting in church trying to understand how to transcend being a clay vessel and become a vessel of power for you?  Hmmm.  News to me.  I want it picturesque.  I want the wild raspberries and calmly bleating lambs.  I want You, my Shepherd, to provide perfect and beautiful for me so that I can be restored.  Oh, okay.  I see.  I really am very much a sheep.

Categories: Living on St Croix | 3 Comments

It’s all in How you View it…

Note: when I first published this on Monday (yesterday), I had a mistake thanks to ‘research ‘ I did on Wikipedia.  (Thanks, Dave!) So this is the new and corrected version!

 

I’ve talked about this before, but we named our house here on St. Croix ‘Pirate’s Perch’ because the house is built on a carved-out flat spot in the middle of a hill.  We are about a mile inland and GPS says we are 214 feet above the sea.  We have a terrific view of  a pretty big chunk of the western coast of the island.  The view is what attracted us to the house initially and it remains probably our favorite part of it.

I look outside dozens of times every day.  The scene is always changing.  Sometimes, the sea is so calm I can see where the channels and currents are running.  Sometimes the water is grey and wrinkly or covered in white caps.  On rainy mornings,  because the sun is rising above the hill behind us, we get lots of rainbows. On clear days we can see Puerto Rico’s mountains 93 miles away.  We watch hawks wheeling over the valley below and listen to their haunting cries echo across the valley. (It isn’t all bucolic, though.  Dogs barking and roosters crowing at all times of the day and night can also echo across… not so pleasant after a while.)

Through a friend, I discovered a website that tells me the names and information about ships that I can see passing by. (www.marinetraffic.com- you can see ships throughout the whole world – it’s pretty cool!)   Maybe it takes me a long time to clean, or weed, or do laundry, or pretty much any job I have because, A. I look out at the sea dozens of times a day, remember? and B. when I see a ship, I then have to stop, open the website on my kindle and see what ship it is, then maybe do some google research about the ship and/or C. get out the spotting scope we got from Sam and Allison for Christmas and look at it close up.   We’ve seen tankers and cargo ships routinely, but we’ve also seen million-dollar ‘Super Yachts’ and  fine sail boats. I’m becoming familiar with ships that commonly ply these waters, including the cruise ships that dock at our pier two or three times a month.

Yesterday, we got a treat.  A Danish tall ship rounded the point and came into view about three o’clock. Sailing vessels are so regal and classy. This one is a three masted tall ship built in 1932 and among its many functions, during the Second World War, it stayed in US waters and was used to train US Coast Guard cadets.  Now it is a training ship for Danish (and three Brazilian) cadets.    It is here to help the Virgin Islands celebrate Transfer Day (one hundred years ago on March 31, the US bought the Virgin Islands from Denmark for $25 million in gold). Of course, I got out the scope and my Kindle, then, also of course, we jumped in the car and drove down to the pier to get a closer view.  Sadly, they had the pier closed off, so we couldn’t get really close, but according to the paper we can go tour the shop today or tomorrow!  Can’t wait.

P.S. It was definitely wortht the second trip down on Tuesday for a tour.  If you’d like to see what it looks like – finish reading my blog then follow this link to a video!  🙂  http://viconsortium.com/featured/watch-we-toured-the-tall-ship-danmark/

 

 

The tall ship Danmark arriving at Frederiksted, USVI

Getting ready to dock at the Pier.

 

This morning, the Danmark was joined at the pier by a cruise ship. Now, both of them sit side by side.  It’s fun to think of the old and the new. I’m sure there’s a lesson in that contrast somewhere, but for the time being, I’m satisfied just to take in the view and relish it.

The Danmark and The Jewel of the Seas docked together at Fredericksted Pier.

Categories: Living on St Croix | 2 Comments

Company

One of the absolutely delightful things about living on a Virgin Island is that people want to come visit us.  I say this with total sincerity, we are thankful and excited that we’ve had lots of company since we’ve been here – and we hope and pray that it continues.  We’ve had our friend Michelle and her daughter Caedmon here with us since Wednesday.  They were here for just a few days two summers ago and loved it, so this time they’ve come back for a week and brought Michelle’s sister and family.  Delightful!  (Except that we got them all soundly sunburned on their first day here and everyone is still recovering!)

There are many things that are wonderful about having company, but one of them is that in showing off our tropical island, we make new discoveries ourselves.  For example, we were trying to find some iguanas to show the little ones (Nash is seven and Juniper will be four tomorrow!).  We were talking about that with my knowledgeable neighbor, who told us to seek iguanas in the morning in the tops of trees, where they will be sunbathing.  Who knew?  Yesterday morning, we had a field day spotting the prehistoric dragons hanging out in trees all around the house.  They’ve been there all along and I’ve never seen them.

The kids have had lots of fun catching lizards (we have a thriving population of anoles around and on the outside of our house).  But the very best discovery we’ve made this week, was made at the beach.  We were at Columbus’ Landing (historic! It’s the only place owned by the United States to be a documented site that Christopher Columbus came ashore). We were doing a little beach combing, and Michelle looked down, then bent down, and retrieved a tiny hermit crab. This little guy could stand in the middle of a dime and not touch any sides.  Soon, we’d found sanctuary for him in a Tupperware from the car. Now the hunt was on for a larger shell for him to be able to change into when he needed it. In that process we located a nook on the beach that was literally crawling with hermit crabs.  Teeny- tiny ones.  Ones in black and white geometrically patterned shells and ones in smooth pinkish shells – all very little but perfect in their miniature marvelousness.

So now, we have a ‘crabitat’ (not my word, it came from an internet site that is teaching us how to care for hermit crabs). Our crabitat is a plastic bin filled with sand, and it is the new and happy universe for seven happy crabs all named and cherished.  Hummm… a pod of crabs? Herd?  A murder of crabs? Flock, Team? A political party of crabs?  I’ll have to look that up.  Anyway.  They are fun and feisty, and if you think that it is only the two little kids who are enjoying them, think again!

Categories: Living on St Croix | 2 Comments

“Five More Great Ways to Live Longer”

The AARP Bulletin that I get once a month has an article this time entitled “50 Great Ways to Live Longer.”  I pulled it out and have read it a couple of times.  Karl and I have talked about it.  Patting ourselves on the back, we note with pride that we are doing many things ‘right’ according to the article.  We’ve talked about trying to add a few that we don’t normally do into our daily routine – though I’m not yet willing to get rid of my throw rugs (really? that many older people die of throw rug danger?) and I’m not sure regular fire drills are in our future – logic tells me that in a fire, I will know to run away!  But, it was an interesting article anyway.

That article got me thinking.  We’ve been on island for a few days more than four months.  We’ve been busy.  We’ve been active.  We’ve been learning a new culture.  Based on our current situation, I’ve decided to add “Five More Great Ways to Live Longer”.  Number 1: Try to keep your husband off of 35 foot tall ladders.  Okay – I did finally succeed at that one (when he finished pressure washing the roof, and not a minute before – though he did use a fall harness.)  I have no doubt that he’ll be back up there again soon, though.  Number 2: Don’t go snorkeling when there’s a rip current.  Scary.  It’s like the sea is trying to suck you out.  Been there, don’t think I want to revisit that.  Number 3: Always wear pants when you go into the ‘bush’.  We live at the edge of the rain forest, and in order not to be overrun by it, weed whackers and hedge trimmers are our friends.  Nettles and flying debris while using those tools are not, though. Karl’s legs still sport a mosaic of little cuts and bruises from one time out there wearing shorts.  Number 4: Be sure you have the right weapons for the right jobs. Arrows don’t actually kill iguanas. Iguanas are really amazing and interesting creatures, but they dig holes and are destructive so we are waging a mini war against them.  The pellets from an air rifle just annoy them.  They feel the sting and then turn around and stare at you with derision.  The look in their eyes say, “Really Chump, that’s all you got?” So we ramped it up a little and bought a pistol crossbow.  Not that either of us is a terrific shot.  The last time I saw the last arrow I shot, it was embedded in the ‘wattle’ of a medium sized iguana.  Once again, he stopped and looked at me.  Then he shook his head, making the new bright yellow and black accoutrement to his ensemble shake and wobble, then he sauntered off into the undergrowth to show his friends.  Number 5:  Eat ice cream every day.  We do.  Armstrong’s ice cream is hand made perfection in a cup or cone.  My favorite is either gooseberry or coconut.  Karl likes pina colada and peanut.  Once in a while I indulge in a ‘black stallion’ – a mixed flavor shake with lots of rum!  MMMMmmm.  It might not actually make us live longer, but it sweetens the time we still have!

Categories: Living on St Croix, Random thoughts on being me | 1 Comment

God’s definition of safe and good

Since before I gave birth to my first baby, I have prayed for my children. Almost forty years later, those prayers have grown to include their spouses and their children.  The prayers for all of them are the same, I ask God to take care of them and keep them safe (among lots of other more specific requests).  When I have asked for them to be safe, I was asking God for what I envisioned: my children living healthy and out of harm’s way, you know, like no car wrecks or broken bones, no worrisome illnesses. No stalker boyfriends or bad influences. I was asking God to protect them from heart ache and trouble.

I am also very familiar with Romans 8:28 which says, ‘And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, whoi have been called according to his purpose.’  And I love the promise in Matthew 7:11: ‘If you then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask Him!’ Again, I have mostly pictured that goodness from God coming to my children in the form of happiness and contentment with side orders of a good education and good jobs, successful marriages and healthy/happy children of their own and nice homes.  I want to say right now, that God has indeed honored those prayers over all.  My children grew up safe and healthy. They had good friends as teens, and while they didn’t always make perfect choices, they didn’t make horrid ones that impact their lives now.  I praise God for that without a doubt.

But.  They have had their share of trouble.  There was that scary bout with mononucleosis that lasted over six months, there was a severed ligament in a big toe, a suspicious pre-cancerous mole, and an intense eight year old with the makings of an ulcer.  There were trips to the ER, tears and heart breaks.  Life in all its hardness has effected my children through the years and continues to try them now.

So. Has God not answered my prayers?  Has God chosen to go back on his promises and not worked for good for my children who love and know Him?  Has He somehow decided to give ugly gifts to them instead of good?  It’s become clear to me that God’s definition of good and safe are not necessarily the same as mine.  I want roses and sunshine. He wants growth and faith.  I want smiles and ease. He wants devotion and trust.  Looking back, I realize that my children are not the beautiful people they are because of the easy and ‘good’ times they’ve endured.  They are kind and thoughtful, resilient and resourceful, beautiful and loving people because of the hard times that kicked them around.  They learned to trust God and themselves as they sat bleeding and crying out. I am proud of who they are because God chose to do what was best for them, and answer my prayers according to His definition and not mine!

 

Categories: Random thoughts on being me | 2 Comments

No more boxes here!

As we prepared to sell and move out of our house in the country in October of 2014, I packed boxes furiously, getting rid of tons of stuff and sorting through years of accumulation.  I had an office in that house that Karl had lined with bookshelves, floor to ceiling, and I had literally tons of books.  Since we were shipping all our belongings by truck and then ship and then truck to the St. Croix house, I had to be brutal and get rid of the lion’s share of those books.  It hurt.

Fast forward to now.  Most of the boxes of books and curios that I packed over two years ago remained in boxes.  We had some remodeling to do before there was a room and shelves to hold them.  We’ve been here a bit over three months, and the first project is done.  We have a wonderful office that can double as a second guest room upstairs now.  It has an expanded walk-in closet to hold all my craft supplies, and as of Saturday, it has completed and beautiful bookshelves.  I spent a terrific day, all day, on Saturday, unpacking the last of the boxes in this house, and unearthing my most prized and most favorite books, my collection of turtle figurines (can you say goofy old lady here?) and other trinkets that mean so much.  They are now happily living, out in the open and easily accessible.

It’s all just stuff.  I get that. I know that I can live a fulfilled and happy life without them (I’ve done it for over two years!). But. I sit at my computer this morning surrounded by volumes with names like Ender’s Game, Moons of Mitra, To Dance with Kings.  I am in the company of characters created by Clive Cussler, Janet Evanovich, Dick Francis.  I am in close contact with the beauty of words written by Shakespeare and Chaucer and John Milton and Kalil Gibran, and I have easy access to the wisdom of Max Lucado and Miss Piggy (Her Guide to Life is very astute!).  In addition, I can see the troll turtle I got for Christmas when I was probably 11, a crystal turtle that first grader Jessie gave me, a small lighthouse Karl and I bought on a trip to bar Harbor, Maine.  To anyone else these things are just stuff, and I anticipate a time after I’m gone when my minimalist daughter shakes her head ruefully as she tosses most of it out.  That is and will be ok.  But for me, these small things and these volumes are a testament of who I am and how I got here.

I know that this world is not my permanent home.  I know that what we see here is a mere, dark image of the wonder that is to come.  I praise God for that.  I also praise Him for the big and the small gifts he gives us now, to give us hope and to sustain us as we move through this world on our way to eternity.

Categories: Random thoughts on being me, remodeling our house, Uncategorized | 1 Comment

Bibles

GailAnn, an amazing lady in my church and her husband, are on a mission.  It is a quiet, beautiful mission to make sure that all the children in our church have Bibles of their own.  She handed out four Bibles yesterday morning.  She’d given these children “Bible story books” at another time, but explained that they were now ready for a full Bible.  So she called them up and gave them one.  While they were still standing up front, holding their new books, Gailann spoke to them about the need to read them and encouraged the children to bring their Bibles to church each week.  Then, she looked out in the congregation and asked the young people (and there are a lot of young people in our church!) to hold their Bibles up to show they’d brought them.  Hands with Bibles went up all over the room.

That started me looking around a little.  Miss Veronica, who is an older lady I was sitting next to, had her Bible.  It has a brown leather cover that is seriously worn at the edges.  It has notes and papers sticking out of the pages.  That book has been through a lot.  The gentleman in front of me had a spiffy looking Bible cover on his.  I peeked over his shoulder during the sermon, and the book inside is far from spiffy, its pages ragged and bent.  All around me the story was the same, the older and more wrinkly the hand that held it, the more crinkles and creases on the pages.

What is even more important, though, isn’t the number of well worn, well-loved Bibles that show up with their owners each week.  It is this: the people at my church have the verses written in their heads and on their hearts as well as on the pages.  The proof of that is clear in two ways.  One, it doesn’t matter if it is during the sermon, or any other time during church, if the speaker starts quoting a Bible verse, voices from around the room join within just a few words, to finish it.  They have verses memorized – and I don’t mean just the ‘famous’ ones like John 3:16.  I’m talking verses from I Samuel and the hard parts of Ephesians or Hosea.  When I was a child, I did my duty to memorize verses for Sunday School so that I could get a trinket or piece of candy. Then I’d promptly forget it.  The adults I sit with each Sunday haven’t forgotten. Proof two is even more telling.  This church has taken the Bible seriously. They own it. It’s clear they are trying to live out what is written on the pages.  I see a lot of generosity, a lot of faith, a lot of thankfulness.

I am guessing that in any spirit-filled church there are many members who can quote the Bible and who could finish a verse once the pastor begins it. Probably, people in many pews finish the verses with the pastor quietly or in their minds. {I can also imagine a church (I am truly only imagining this!) where members speak out loudly to finish verses to prove how knowledgeable and pious they are. That certainly would kill the buzz.} But for me, in this place and with this congregation, finishing the verse is a witness.  It’s a witness to me as an adult and it is a witness to those little ones who got their first Bible yesterday morning.  Having your Bible in your hand, wearing it out as you journey through this world, having the verses on your mind and lips, those actions are a given.  Those actions are part of what a person does to survive and triumph.

Categories: Frederiksted Baptist Church, Random thoughts on being me | Leave a comment

Lessons from Old Women – The end, sort of

In the past few weeks I’ve shared with you brief stories of older ladies who made a difference to me.  They certainly are not the only women that have done so, but they are the ‘Big Four’.  Along with my thankfulness for them, I am awed by a God who so carefully provides.  When I needed to think carefully about my life’s path and be courageous enough to leave home, Esther and her letters so full of encouragement and down to earth-ness came along.  When I was lonely and adrift in Monterey,  Ella Jean invited me into her home and heart and anchored me. Learning to be a pioneer woman on the prairie of Wyoming could have been a disaster without the skills and smiles that Lula was willing and able to share with me.  And fighting the nagging voice that says I’m not really a writer and that I’m wasting my time on trying to write, Mary Jane has been excited with me and for me and egging me on. Looking back over the tapestry, I can see that God gifted me with them at specific and well-chosen moments.  I had not asked for them.  I didn’t know I needed them, but as soon as each arrived I was able to recognize that that she had something important to give and to teach me. I hope that each of these ladies had at least an inkling of what they’d done for me.

For sure, I could do a series on another kind of woman.  The ones who came into my life and the interaction was not positive.  (My third grade teacher, for example stands out as an unimaginative, mean spirited woman.)  Really, though, I am thankful for these women as well, because by them I have seen and learned who and what I did NOT want to be and I have learned a bit about forgiveness along the way.

So.   Only one thing remains.  I am an old woman now.  It is my hope and my prayer that when a younger woman comes into my life and I am given the chance to be an Esther, or Ella Jean, or Lula, or Mary Jane to her, I will rise to the occasion with love and care and wisdom.

For years I’ve had this saying on my bulletin board:

Here’s to good women,

May we know them.

May we be them.

May we raise them.

Amen!

Categories: Living on St Croix, Random thoughts on being me | 4 Comments