Remembering

“Here we have time.”

These are the words I once read on a little hand-lettered sign posted on the door to the kindergarten room at the Minnesota Waldorf School. How enticing – a place where the schedules and business of the adult world are suspended for the children who cross that threshold. Embedded within the routines of clean-up, bathroom, snack, circle, and story is the substance of the morning: play. The children become masters of the world of their own imagination without interruption or hurry. The holiness of play is honored.

When I walk out to my garden, I cross through my own imaginary gateway with the same sign hanging from it. Time becomes a forgotten constraint when I am close to the earth, surrounded by plants, and enchanted by the heaven-sweet scents and colors of unfolding blossoms. In my full devotion to tending to the life of my garden, the cares of the outside world cease to exist.

Into this peaceful bower, the gentle tones of my wind chime sporadically sound, born on the breeze of eternity.  They herald for me the invisible presence of my loved ones who have gone before, and  I remember we are never apart in spirit.

“Here we have time.”

I am refreshed, and go back to the routines of my life, whole again.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, June 8th, 2010 at 5:29 pm and is filed under Blog. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.