The arms that rocked me

As is always fitting on a bright Mother's Day Sunday, Pastor Don preached a message all about mothers today. He quoted from an old poem, you may have heard it: The Hand that Rocks the Cradle. 

It got me thinking about those hands who did so much more than just rock a cradle. They cleaned, they bandaged wounds, they caressed my hair, they taught me to crochet, they showed me how to knead bread, they held my own as we walked down the street. Those arms held me tight on countless occasions, from the rocking chair when I was a child unable to sleep, to the floor when I collapsed in distress, to the airport as I left home... and they are always open to me. 

Those hands that I know so well, always moving, always busy, always fulfilling another need. Those hands and the woman to who they belong have taught me well. About life and love and faith; about work and rest and play; about tears and joys and pain; about gentleness and strength and endurance. 

This Mother's Day, I am thanking God for those hands, those hands who have influenced countless lives besides my own and which I hope to one day be able to mimic with my own. 

Ill tidings

Watching sunlight turn to grey
Darkness drawing in
Wind is bearing tidings ill
Sound of rain tapping on tin

Drips persist and overwhelm
Force me away to hide
Helpless against a growing storm
Whose will won't be denied

Drip Drip Drop

Drip, drip, drop

Little April shower

Beating a tune as you fall all around

Drip, drip, drop

Little April shower

What can compare with your beautiful sound?

Beautiful sound, beautiful sound

Drip, drop, drip, drop

(Little April Showers - Bambi)

Okay so it's not exactly April anymore and in all honesty, it hasn't even been raining out here. BUT we did have a delightfully non-spring-like dump of snow on May 1st! Oh the joys of being in Jackson Hole.

However, with said dump of 6 inches, came a whole day of symphonious dripping as the fluffy snow melted away, dropping in heavy clumps from tree branches and leaking over the eaves of buildings. Drips and drops were heard all over campus as the snow turned to slush and the ground turned to mush. By late afternoon the sun was shining happily down on the muddy lawn and the snow was scarce.

The sparkling drops of weeping snowmelt continued into the evening. The sound was close enough to resembling a light April shower that I was willing to pretend and sing-a-long to the Bambi song as I went about the day. Now all we're missing are those supposed "May flowers".

I had almost forgotten how Wyoming seems to misunderstand the word "spring" as an actual change of seasons...