Sally Gerard

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It didn’t begin as a war. Cute little bunnies frolicking and cavorting and making me smile as I look out over my laptop to the lilacs. On any given day, there might be ten or twelve tucked into the bottom of the lilacs like Easter eggs ready to be found. I thought it was cute, seeing their worn little rabbit path leading out from under the deck and around the house past the apple tree and into the lilacs. Cute.

And then they were playing in the hay bales. It was cute. Was. Until they started sheering all the hay strings and pulling the bales apart. Not cute.

A couple of nights ago, my Christmas lights on the apple tree stopped coming on at dusk. After my run, I walked around to see what the problem was. We’ve had trouble with the outside outlets. But it was still dark, and I had no glasses. I pushed the buttons, knowing one was the test and one the reset. Nothing.

I came in and tripped all the breakers. And then I tripped them again, just to cover my bases. Still no lights. At daylight, with my glasses, I went back out and pushed the outlet buttons again. Then I cursed the bloody thing and whoever had “read the instructions” imprinted in the plastic, as if the instructions were somewhere I could read them.

You know where this is going, don’t you?

Turning to be sure the lights were still plugged into the extension cord from the tree, I see that my string of blue lights, my favorite lights, at the bottom of the tree have been sheered in half. The cute little bunnies are now irritating rabbit rodents. Where are the chicken hawks and owls? This is war.

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Straw for the Manger is the theme of this year’s advent devotional. I love the idea that each day of advent there are concrete things I can do to prepare the manger for the Christ child. These are ways that fall under the “whatever you do for one of the least of these, you do for me” category. And isn’t that what we are to be about? Giving the “straw of hope” to others reminds us of what we are capable of because of Love.

It is the smallest things that can have the biggest impact on someone who is downtrodden, and in providing that shovel on the sidewalk for the neighbor that we are filled. What can we offer? Maybe it is fixing a bike tire or signing your organ donor card. It could be writing that letter to ask forgiveness for some past mistake and repairing the torn friendship. Or passing around the homemade cookies or other goodies you know someone loves.

It could simply be the smile you give to the overwrought clerk at the store who has put up with abuse all day long, and a thank you as you take your leave.

Blessings come in all shapes and sizes, from a bowl of caramel apple pie ice-cream with hot fudge to a text message with that recipe for meat stew that warms up a belly on a cold day.

That goofy horse that, when you kneel down in the pasture, always comes over to warm up your cheek with his curious muzzle.

Sharing a daily devotional with your best friend over 1300 miles away and yet right there beside you.

A place to meet in the middle for coffee and catch-up time with friends who don’t mind driving because you moved away.

Cotton tails hopping and playing on the sides of snow drifts while birds flock around the feeder above them.

The warmth of home and love, grace and forgiveness, and knowing you are never alone.

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I’ve tried to open the door so many times. I had it once, squeaking open on rusty hinges, but then it slammed shut. I was able to glimpse bright blue, and a feeling of utter peace wafted out around me like a soft breeze. I wanted in there. I knocked. Begged. Kicked and screamed. Exhausted, I finally dropped down and sat leaning against the door.

I couldn’t leave. I was afraid I wouldn’t find it again, that I wouldn’t remember the way back. I had some lifesavers, but in stories, the bread crumb trail never works.

Sitting there and feeling sorry for myself, I ate a lifesaver, and then chomped down the entire roll. I heard a faint whistle, like a train, and it got louder until I covered my ears. I felt the vibration of a train on tracks under me and barely managed to bail off as the train came screaming down the tracks right where I’d been sitting. The door was gone.

In my work as an online teacher, we often meet as colleagues to try to figure out how to engage our students when they seem to be checking out. When they begin to fall behind, it snowballs very quickly, and they often end up failing at the end of the grading period.

Trying to utilize all the PD sessions I’ve both taught and attended, sharing my own life with my students, and trying to make sure they know that I see them, that I hear them, I’ve tried some different strategies lately.

I’ve begun to use a “word of the week” in my announcement to get them thinking, and in my weekly email, I invite them to respond to a question I pose. I upped the stakes this week, with only six weeks left in their semester. I offered Extra Credit for any response to the question: How do you show grit? I had already defined the word for them.

And wow, I got some incredible responses that reminded my teacher self that we don’t always know our students’ home story:

“I would have to say, at this time in my life, I show my true grit by putting forth the effort when I really want to find a corner and cry. But I know I can’t do that because so many people depend on me. As you already know, my pawpaw is dying, and I go with my mom sometimes to help out with him because it is so hard on her. I try to keep pawpaw’s spirit up and talk to him as much as I can. But, watching him die has got to be the worst thing ever!! He went from getting around on his own to can’t even stand up and he has lost so much weight!! But I put on my best face and talk to him like I always have. He is starting to get confused and ill, but I totally understand that it’s the cancer doing this to him. All I know to do is pray for him and love him and be there for him and my mom. This may not be really what you were asking for, but I do feel like it fits me right now.”

One of my favorite books is The Long Winter by Laura Ingalls Wilder. Each winter, at some point, I read it cover to cover and find myself transported back into a time I think I would have reveled in. The story begins with Pa and Laura working dawn to dusk to cut hay and stack it. The coming winter is foreshadowed when the two discover a muskrat den with very thick walls: “The colder the winter will be, the thicker the muskrats build the walls of their houses,” Pa told her. “I never saw a heavier-built muskrats’ house than that one.” (Wilder.1953.)

And the cold winter moves in, the people doing the best they can to survive. The Ingalls family comes down to very short rations as the trains are stuck drifted on the tracks and supplies cannot get through. Yet they rely on their faith and family and do their best to make it, while still considering the neighbors in town as everyone becomes community so no one starves.

When I read it, I feel the painful cold fingers and toes and yet the warmth of the family close by the stove. I love the way they rationed stories, so they had something to look forward to each day.

Words can bring light and hope in so many dark places.

Cattle tend to follow each other in long lines, making trails through the pasture to various points. This can come in handy when we need to move them because they will often follow those paths if we get them started and keep them motivated.

Animals, like humans, are creatures of habit. I noticed a worn path on my way to fill my bird feeder. It’s a rabbit path and they’ve worn down the grass about the width of a rabbit. I can see where their feet land as they’ve hopped back and forth from under the deck, around the north side of the house, past the apple tree and into the lilac bushes. Little rabbit “pellets” line the path.

So, where are my trails? And how do I get off of them if they don’t lead where I know I should be going? Or, how do I stay motivated to keep on the path when it gets hard or I can’t see my way to the end?