“Look at you, you madman!  Screaming you are thirsty and dying in a desert, when all around you there is nothing but water!”

– Kabir

I thought about this yesterday when the warm sun suddenly was hidden by dark clouds and the torrential rain began to fall — I mean the kind of rain that drops a screen between you and the world beyond.

Before long, the dry sidewalk at the end of my porch became a puddle with ripples and bubbles dancing as the rain fell at a furious pace.

All day long, I had felt the humidity hanging in the air; but not until the first drops fell did I really think about it as water.  In truth, the rain was all around me long before the clouds gathered; but I didn’t acknowledge it until my feet got wet.

I spoke yesterday about challenging economic times being the perfect time to renew our commitment to giving.  When times are tough, people who live at the edge can find themselves teetering and struggling not to fall.  Today I want to be a little more personal about giving; and Kabir’s idea of dying of thirst in a desert when there is water all around is the perfect starting place.  I talked yesterday about buckets and about making a commitment to leave a dollar in each one that collected for a worthy charity.  Kabir helps me with the perspective I need to feel free to make this commitment when I, too, am feeling the squeeze.

I will allow that maybe this perspective is easier for me than for some of my peers, since the choices I have made for my life have been the kind that removed the desire for a lot of material things.  I couldn’t have imagined forty years ago, as I awaited the arrival of my first baby, that today I would be parenting my ninth (and last) child.  We have learned to be resourceful through the years; and our children have learned to adjust their expectations in the area of “wants” and to focus first on the things they truly need.  I like to think that this has helped them to appreciate what really matters to each of them.

In spite of all this great training, here we sit — Mark and I — with our children almost grown and time together ahead of us — and, BAM, the economy goes south.  We are not alone in this, and we certainly don’t feel singled out for misery; but I’m here to say that there are days when I can feel pretty sorry for myself.  I want to drive down to Staples and get me one of those EASY buttons, give it a good press, and begin the unencumbered portion of my life.  Unfortunately, I have it on very good authority that the easy buttons don’t work as well as you might think they do.  So, here we are.  There are trips we would like to take, but not this summer.  There are great restaurants we would like to try, but not this week.  I could complain, I suppose, but truly this is the life we have chosen — whether we really knew what we were choosing at the time, or not.

Before that rain brought Kabir’s words to mind yesterday, I guess I was having one of those days of feeling sorry for myself.  Then I realized that the choice was mine:  Would I choose to see my world as a desert where I was dying of thirst, or would I open my eyes and see the water all around?

I walked outside for five minutes this morning before waking Ivy, and in only five minutes, I discovered all of these things that make my world a lush rainforest.  And first, let’s remember that I walked out of my own home with a roof to stop the rain, into my own yard with soil for a garden and room to park the car that takes me place I need to go.

The sunlight was shining down through the branches of the ancient pine tree.

Sweet little pansies smiled up at me as I passed.

My neighbor had dropped off tomato plants for my garden.

Tiny pears begin to grow in the shelter of their tree.

Raspberries bloom and promise sweet fruit for my morning oatmeal.

Tiny blueberries will be fun for the grandchildren to pick this summer.

Peas will soon provide the first pickings of this year’s garden.

All of this in only five minutes!  Can you imagine what I might have found in ten?

No, we won’t be jetting off to faraway places this year; but I absolutely refuse to live in the desert.  I want to stay in my own little space, where there’s always water for a thirsty traveler — and even enough for a guest.  Come and visit my desert if you’d like — bring your own water wings.