The morning after Hurricane Helene ripped through Georgia, I gave thanks that the white oak outside my bedroom window had held. But then I took the path to the river and started counting corpses...
I will share this writing with my aging mother who is in assisted living with a failing body and mind. She wonders why God is keeping her here when she is so unhappy and wants to go. I always try to comfort her with caring listening and understanding. But often, I don't know what to say to her pain. She is a true nurse log, she still has purpose, especially for me because of her deep roots. Thank you, much love. ❤️
My mother, at 98, is sitting as her husband of 72 years slowly departs our world. She is loving and caring as she tries to understand why her nurse log is leaving. Her strength brings me comfort and courage.
A very favorite from some one some where is that the forrest floor sucks the death out of life. While the tree is dying and will be dead. And mourned. There is much life given in that death. Life in the forrest is not wasted.
I’m recuperating from a bone marrow transplant this spring, the result of treating and curing a very aggressive form of leukemia. I found that as I faced the truth of my diagnosis that I began to notice that the medical staff who cared for me, one of the finest staffs on this planet, needed my care as much as I needed theirs but in a different way. I needed to cooperate, I needed to recognize their care, I needed to see their humanity as I felt their kindness. They needed to know I saw them and what they were doing. In all situations of dramatics change our kindness and humanity is called for and hopefully also called forth. As the trees leave their love behind I see God’s hand at work in them too. Thank you so much for your incredible insights.
beautifully said. i’ve taken to kindly asking the names of my unnamed/unintroduced healthcare professionals who run almost everything behind the scenes. it makes a difference acknowledging who is doing what, appreciating especially when a stranger is caring for us as if we were family. wishing you much healing and a restful recovery
After my husband died following a “ long good bye” of Alzheimer’s, our local Hospice Bereavement group offered a nature walk in a beautiful watershed area. We were to walk quietly noticing nature then come back and share what we saw. It was powerful. I saw new life—as you did —in the form of new trees rising from apparently dead fallen trees. I came to realize my dead husband lived on in my memories and the lives of our children as well as the many lives he touched. Thank you for reminding me with your beautiful word pictures.
Thank you for this. I live in a neighborhood called “Hidden Oaks” where contractors fell the hundred plus year old beauty’s and their sisters the Slash Pines at break neck speed. An acre can be bulldozed in a two day period. I mourn the loss of them and the habitat they provided for wildlife now disappearing here in my home state of Florida, not due to a hurricane but due to corporate greed and corruption. I’d love a place to camp near your river♥️
I live in Florida as well, I grew up here and it looks nothing like it did when I was young. These days it seems it can change by the week. I hear you on this one.
Mary Oliver said, "Things take the time they take." Yes, it is hard to bear witness to such destruction. It is heart rending... All those beautiful giants lying prone upon the earth.... lead to resurrection but in a timeframe beyond our lifetimes. This is the work of the Lord...
I was a Presbyterian minister for twenty-five years. I have been a full time regenerative farmer for eight. Now I have MCI and maybe early onset dementia. After reading today’s blog on substack I knew I had to write and say thank you, while I still can.
Since I found Mixed Blessings some 35 years ago, your writings have been such an inspiration, light guide, and now great friend to me
Four of the highlights of my calling have been preaching, teaching, engaging other religions, and allowing the natural world to lead me. I have had no better teacher in the cumulative of those experiences than you.
I really hope this little post gets to you so you know what your writings have meant to me. I am about to go on an awe walk down to one of our ponds that substitutes for a chapel about a mile away. I am going to pretend that you will read this, smile, and be on the lookout for any nurse logs along the way.
I’m glad to know I’m not the only one who speaks to trees. There’s a resilient oak outside my front door. He has barbed wire protruding from a couple of places near the base of his trunk. I knew he was an overcomer. When we moved in I tried to name him, suggesting monikers of noble heritage. He seemed to say, “I’ll introduce myself when the time is right.” A couple of years later, he announced his name. Doak, he said. (As in SNL referring to the Chicago Bears as Da Bears.) Who knew my tree had a sense of humor! 😉
'Nurse logs' is a powerful reminder that death doesn't have the last word. For us, our memories of a loved one who has died continue to nurse us. As always, thank you for your writing.
I grieved with you as I read this. I thought of how often I talk to trees and other plants and mourn their loss. I always think about wheat as well, and other edible plants, and how they have to die in order to fulfill their ultimate purpose...just like us.
I loved reading this as I have been pondering through lent the Scripture you referenced. It’s meaningful as I walk with my mother through the winter of her life while in hospice. Thank you!
I will share this writing with my aging mother who is in assisted living with a failing body and mind. She wonders why God is keeping her here when she is so unhappy and wants to go. I always try to comfort her with caring listening and understanding. But often, I don't know what to say to her pain. She is a true nurse log, she still has purpose, especially for me because of her deep roots. Thank you, much love. ❤️
Sooooo true. The last great lesson our parents give us happens at these edges of life. I needed to hear this today!
My mother, at 98, is sitting as her husband of 72 years slowly departs our world. She is loving and caring as she tries to understand why her nurse log is leaving. Her strength brings me comfort and courage.
God bless you, Andrea, for looking after her so lovingly and with such patience.
Thank you, but it really is my honor to do so. ❤️
John 12 is my text at St Luke’s skilled nursing facility this morning ~ I’ll find myself in a forest of trees…..
A very favorite from some one some where is that the forrest floor sucks the death out of life. While the tree is dying and will be dead. And mourned. There is much life given in that death. Life in the forrest is not wasted.
I’m recuperating from a bone marrow transplant this spring, the result of treating and curing a very aggressive form of leukemia. I found that as I faced the truth of my diagnosis that I began to notice that the medical staff who cared for me, one of the finest staffs on this planet, needed my care as much as I needed theirs but in a different way. I needed to cooperate, I needed to recognize their care, I needed to see their humanity as I felt their kindness. They needed to know I saw them and what they were doing. In all situations of dramatics change our kindness and humanity is called for and hopefully also called forth. As the trees leave their love behind I see God’s hand at work in them too. Thank you so much for your incredible insights.
You are a blessing. Thank you for sharing this. Prayers for your continuing journey!
beautifully said. i’ve taken to kindly asking the names of my unnamed/unintroduced healthcare professionals who run almost everything behind the scenes. it makes a difference acknowledging who is doing what, appreciating especially when a stranger is caring for us as if we were family. wishing you much healing and a restful recovery
After my husband died following a “ long good bye” of Alzheimer’s, our local Hospice Bereavement group offered a nature walk in a beautiful watershed area. We were to walk quietly noticing nature then come back and share what we saw. It was powerful. I saw new life—as you did —in the form of new trees rising from apparently dead fallen trees. I came to realize my dead husband lived on in my memories and the lives of our children as well as the many lives he touched. Thank you for reminding me with your beautiful word pictures.
Thank you for this. I live in a neighborhood called “Hidden Oaks” where contractors fell the hundred plus year old beauty’s and their sisters the Slash Pines at break neck speed. An acre can be bulldozed in a two day period. I mourn the loss of them and the habitat they provided for wildlife now disappearing here in my home state of Florida, not due to a hurricane but due to corporate greed and corruption. I’d love a place to camp near your river♥️
I live in Florida as well, I grew up here and it looks nothing like it did when I was young. These days it seems it can change by the week. I hear you on this one.
Mary Oliver said, "Things take the time they take." Yes, it is hard to bear witness to such destruction. It is heart rending... All those beautiful giants lying prone upon the earth.... lead to resurrection but in a timeframe beyond our lifetimes. This is the work of the Lord...
Wouldn’t it be wonderful if humans left such a beautiful legacy to the planet as the trees?
I was a Presbyterian minister for twenty-five years. I have been a full time regenerative farmer for eight. Now I have MCI and maybe early onset dementia. After reading today’s blog on substack I knew I had to write and say thank you, while I still can.
Since I found Mixed Blessings some 35 years ago, your writings have been such an inspiration, light guide, and now great friend to me
Four of the highlights of my calling have been preaching, teaching, engaging other religions, and allowing the natural world to lead me. I have had no better teacher in the cumulative of those experiences than you.
I really hope this little post gets to you so you know what your writings have meant to me. I am about to go on an awe walk down to one of our ponds that substitutes for a chapel about a mile away. I am going to pretend that you will read this, smile, and be on the lookout for any nurse logs along the way.
I’m glad to know I’m not the only one who speaks to trees. There’s a resilient oak outside my front door. He has barbed wire protruding from a couple of places near the base of his trunk. I knew he was an overcomer. When we moved in I tried to name him, suggesting monikers of noble heritage. He seemed to say, “I’ll introduce myself when the time is right.” A couple of years later, he announced his name. Doak, he said. (As in SNL referring to the Chicago Bears as Da Bears.) Who knew my tree had a sense of humor! 😉
'Nurse logs' is a powerful reminder that death doesn't have the last word. For us, our memories of a loved one who has died continue to nurse us. As always, thank you for your writing.
Thank you for reminding me that the death of things is not always what I think.
I live surrounded by the forest, and after reading your post this morning I'll probably never think of trees the same way again.
I grieved with you as I read this. I thought of how often I talk to trees and other plants and mourn their loss. I always think about wheat as well, and other edible plants, and how they have to die in order to fulfill their ultimate purpose...just like us.
Such beautiful writing. It really touched my heart- and my eyes. Thank you.
I loved reading this as I have been pondering through lent the Scripture you referenced. It’s meaningful as I walk with my mother through the winter of her life while in hospice. Thank you!