Keeping Faith by Jodi Picoult August 2, 2008
Posted by openpalm in God, Literature, divorce, faith, jodi picoult, love, miracles, parenting, signs, portents.2 comments
MaryMom recommended Keeping Faith by Jodi Picoult to me more than a year ago. I couldn’t read it then, but have now, and Wow! is it good.
This story is about a non-practicing Jewish family, in the middle of divorce, faced suddenly with their 7-year old daughter seeing God, then showing the ability to heal, then stigmata. Why her? why then? why them? is it real or a hoax? A bevy of priests, newsmen, rabbis, and crowds of the pre-faithful (with agendas), and the very hopeful, all flock and fly around the family seeking their own salvations. This is a fast-paced, moving, often funny, insightful and very readable book.
It’s also a love story. About man and woman. About unlikely alliances. About parents and children. About expectations and the endless stream of surprises that comprise relationship and of the adjustments that true love must make.
There’s a great grandma in this book. And a mother who is never sure minute to minute what being a good mother looks like… and knowing she can never finally and actually protect her child, she tries anyway.
At the core of this book is, as indicated by the title, the issue of faith. Faith in ourselves, in others, in life, in whatever we call god.
On what is hope based? How much of belief is based on what we think, and how much on what our community or The Community thinks? How do we get through the day? What signs and portents do we need to believe in a better tomorrow? Where do we stand when things fall apart, nothing seems to make sense? And what miracles can shake us, when we’ve retreated, back to the living?
Keeping Faith is a very good read.
hello moon May 27, 2008
Posted by openpalm in God, chrysallis, comforts, miracles, ordinary, simplejoys.3 comments
Walker, Texas Ranger is big in our house (not just 1 but 2 reruns mon-friday on Hallmark channel.) Lots of round-house karate kicks, and a sound track during fights that i’m sure they just play over and over for the many scenes with flying punches, kicks and resulting oofs. I’ve been trying to figure out who is doing what on the sound track to create the perception of the sound of a foot actually making a swooshing noise as it leaves the ground, kicks higher than a shoulder, turns 360 degrees before landing on someone’s chin. Oh, and no blood. Power and release and body body body all by the white hatted good guys getting it out on the black hatted bad guys. What could possibly beat that?
All of that, by the way, was a digression. On a recent episode, Walker’s Indian mentor (walker’s father was a full blooded Indian, and Walker was raised on a rez after his parents are killed) remonstrates Walker because he has walked out of his house and forgotten to “greet the sun.” Walker, after a tiny push back, says “hello sun” to the sky.
I realize that I do this twice daily, most days. In the morning it sounds like “hello, house” but the words pass my lips as I exit the mini-tunnel of my bedroom and enter the two-story room with windows around the top perimeter and see the sky — mostly blue, often with some sunlight event, be it the time just before dawn (weekdays) or the glorious spill of sunlight (weekends.) “hello, house” is really “hello, sun, and I thank you.”
Most nights we can also watch the moon on its trajectory from one end of the house to the other…it passes five windows as it moves from east to west…as it passes from dark to full and back again. “hello moon.”
The moon is female. I don’t know why. She is sweet and quiet and soothes me when the dark might otherwise be frightening. She is cool but never cold. She is the light in the window reminding me that wherever i might be in the world, I am always home in the intimate night on this earthly planet with the deep deep deep universe spread above me. I like the night. Especially now when during the day there is way too much to do, work and home with lots of critters and number one son needing things. In the night, it’s just me, and the moon, and a few moments of silent companionship
hello, to each of you who visit here. my other moons. companions listening quietly wherever you are, and shining your lights in the window.
Saints April 26, 2007
Posted by openpalm in God, comforts, divorce, relationship.add a comment
I buy two hand-painted pictures of saints, mounted on pounded tin. They are small and bright, from Spain. The colors are Mediterranean olive green, brick red, beige, shadow black, glowing white.
The first, Santa Rita. A nun in grey habit with black wimple. Her eyebrows slightly raised, in sad, accepting, surprise. She holds a golden cross raised in her right hand. She holds a skull in her left, directly over her heart. The inscription, “Patroness of desperate cases, spousal abuse, infertility, loneliness, invoked for healing of wounds and childhood illnesses, invoked against bad marriages, roving husbands.” I can feel myself in her body, looking out.
The second, Santa Maria Madelena, her halo’d head titled, slightly, her eyes large, her face serene. She holds an earthen jar. The inscription, “The first disciple of Christ. Patroness of fallen women and contemplatives. Invoked for forgiving.” I tilt my head, try to mimic her expression. Try to imagine what unguent she carries in her jar.
Prayer for a dead rat March 15, 2007
Posted by openpalm in God, affirmation, comforts, prayers.1 comment so far
My friend sends this prayer, for the dead rat we buried yesterday:
gate gate paragate parasam gate boddhisvaha.
(gone gone gone beyond, gone way beyond, awakening attained)
Yes, Virginia, there is a god / gods / God – Part 1 January 21, 2007
Posted by openpalm in God, handholds, hope, miracles, poetry, signs, portents.add a comment
I believe in miracles.
Signs and portents from the World that rubs skins with this one.
That other world we only glimpse out of the corner of an eye, in dreams, sometimes stepping off the canvas, or rising on the page.
Every so often, the “other” instantiates itself more directly in our walking-around, see-and-touch world.
In 1982, newly sober, I was headed to Point Reyes for solace. I was sick in body, sore in soul, wanting badly to re-establish myself in the world of the living. I stopped in Fairfax for food. Stepping out of the car, there, lying in my path, was a bouquet of “poor man’s” orchids. Five or six stems. I looked up and down the street. Pedestrians going about their business. No one looking as if they had dropped these. I felt awkward and unworthy, standing there, these brown-pink waxy blossoms in my hand. I left them on the hood of my car, thinking someone would come back for them.
An hour later, when I walked back out of the restaurant, the orchids were still there. I thought, are these for me? But pushed the thought aside as blatantly ridiculous. I did pick them up, shyly. I did go back in the restaurant and ask for a damp paper towel to wrap the stems in, feeling badly that I hadn’t done so before. I did put them in my car.
I got to the beach, parked. Walked over the dunes.
There, lying in the sand, a bunch of red roses.
Oh, god. I thought. Oh God.
Oh, Goddess.
The orchids lasted in water for almost a month.
The roses dried to velvety paper. I can still smell their scent.
I have told very few people this, and often forget it myself. I am watched over. When I am most in need, there is succor. I believe this is true for me. I believe this is true for you.
