As I turned the corner I immediately knew the weekend was going to be just what I NEEDED. Sitting quaintly for 100 years between the bay and the ocean the house had a smile of it's own to welcome all who looked at it's long front porch spanning the width in feet from left to right, protecting the breadth of the structure. White rockers dressed in summer print waited patiently for recipients to while away the afternoon in the hum of conversation. But that would have to wait, for now it was time to unloaded the trunks and back seats of our cars from apparel and great food!
The fairies had returned to gather and share.
Each year a dozen or so women now on the cusp of turning sixty reconvene to catch up and laugh and bitch and complain and laugh some more, and they come to renew their souls. The ocean spewed it's scent of saturated salt upon them and I noticed in quiet moments, when they thought I wasn't looking, the contemplative gaze that each one took in the midst of banter to refresh their own hearts with it's essence. Perhaps to see their past and want for their future or maybe just to drink up what the sea offered them right then in that moment. They would turn away once more to join the unsuspecting group, each one supporting the thoughts and dreams of the others lifting them up with advice and hope and comfort. Sharing what was needed, taking what was yearned for and even slipping in a special gift of grace when it was most unexpected in the secret of dawn on the new day was part of the ebb and flow.
As it came time to leave I walked away, maybe not with confidence to continue my own plight in the path they had suggested, but with the understanding that the faith of those women was strong enough to carry me along in my thoughts, and maybe in time I would persevere. My heart was still sad and heavy but my mind and soul had a flicker of hope. The source of mothering and the bond of womanhood shared with these girls over flowed my cup, so I would store up the abundance for later when trials became too difficult.
I will continue to look back at this weekend and also to the day in September of 1959 to see the story God had commenced to writing then. The story none of us could see the future to. The story that would continue for 50 years for all those perfectly dressed little girls with shiny shoes, who had no stories of their own to tell for they were new and untouched, but who come together now to share as they become the whole that had always been planned.
Pin It Now!