Unwrapped Gifts
As another fall equinox passes us by, I’m thinking not only of beginnings and endings but even more so of all those ordinary middles. We spend so much of our lives in the middle, those commonplace days, weeks, and years, where it seems as if not much changes. Such mundaneness can make it difficult to see the inherent richness and beauty in the actions that make up these many days. It is an irony and a sadness that only by looking in the rear view mirror do many of us cultivate an appreciation of what once was the life we lived.
Nostalgia? Maybe.
But I believe, in fact, that in the middle, wonderful presents pass through our hearts and hands more frequently than we are apt to notice unless of course, we’re really paying attention. Because they don’t occur at formal milestones like beginnings or endings, these unwrapped gifts of the middle are easy to miss. I’m talking about a face that lights up when you walk in the room, that special squeeze inside a hug, extra hands helping in the kitchen, a door held open just for you, a simple, handwritten note in a lunchbox, a heart drawn in the wet dew of a kitchen window. Taken alone, not one is an extraordinary or grand gesture, and yet, it is through these small acts we welcome connection into our lives. It is exactly these small acts that help us live-- with grace and goodness- our very best middles.
My farm and my family continue to teach me the preciousness of middles. Each week, Brad and I walk our fields together and take stock. I cannot help but see what was, what is, what may be… all in bright sunshine and rain-washed truth. For plants do not hide; their individual presence is palpable. On my farm, I know immediately if there is vitality or struggle, vibrancy or sickness. I can see the waning color of the basil, the low slung shoulders of the pepper plants. I can see the full broccoli leaves reaching skyward in circles of uplifted song. My plants are living here and now, but I can feel their stories written across a field of time, one unwrapped gift at a time. Likewise, in my family, it is by sharing our meals and our sadnesses, trading works and tools, telling jokes and tending hearts, that we remain present to our collective middle. It is our presence in each other’s lives, a shared kindness written across time, that keeps me sensitive to and grateful for all the unwrapped gifts we keep passing from heart to heart.
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At the close of summer I hear a lot of laments- lists of waning produce, sunshine and warmth that will be missed. It is easy to want to look backwards. But we do have a choice. We can pay attention to that which is no longer, or we can turn our gaze to that with which we have agency. Might we notice what is coming into fruition, right here, right now? Might we learn to savor and celebrate the small but sacred? Might we learn to both find and to gift to others just what we have to offer in this very moment? There are so many things in this world we can shift for the better with the slightest of effort and a mere teaspoon of love.
Seasonality is another word for life; one offering leading to another, one small act supporting the growth of another, one flower a harbinger of precious seed to come. Just as fall moves us into winter, winter will shepherd us into spring. And spring of course will send us flying back into summer. Beginnings, endings and especially middles are simply opportunities for connection, which like the seasons, braid back into one another again and again.
I have farmed long enough to take nothing for granted and learned to receive even the smallest offering with gratitude. I have come to understand that every day, no matter how ordinary, holds a bevy of miracles. When we choose to act with small kindnesses, we cultivate the power of the plain, we create marvelousness amongst the familiar.
By honoring the middles in our lives, we truly come alive. ~AJ
“Love doesn’t mean doing extraordinary or heroic things. It means knowing how to do ordinary things with tenderness.”