Upload
loyola-press
View
224
Download
2
Embed Size (px)
DESCRIPTION
In her three-book series that spans the liturgical year, renowned author Phyllis Tickle shares stories of faith from her family’s farm in Lucy, Tennessee. In spiritually uplifting and nostalgic memoirs, Tickle records the richness of faith to be found in everyday life. Wisdom in the Waiting, the second book in the series, celebrates the “luminous beauty that bursts forth in spring” and offers heartwarming stories of faith revolving around the sacrifice of Lent, the darkness of Good Friday, the rebirth of Easter, and the hope of eternal life.
Citation preview
Contents Prologue vii
chapter1 NoPalmsinMyPurse 1
chapter2 MardiGrasandOtherPortalsintoMystery 15
chapter3 OfSwallowtailsinParticular 29
chapter4 WatchingandWaiting 41
chapter5 FinalSanity 47
chapter6 OnJustSuchaMorning 53
chapter7 TheBleedingBirds 57
chapter8 RunawaySon 67
chapter9 GardenMyths 83
chapter10 FatherandSon 93
chapter11 ThroughtheVeilTorn 101
chapter12 PatronSaintsandaStoryofGrief 105
�
chapter13 DanceoftheFireflies 111
chapter14 AscensionDay 117
Epilogue 125
�i Contents
Itwasa longtimeago,andhalfa lifetimeofexperi-ence. In early May, Nora had gotten married. Our
oldest,shewasthefirstofthechildrentoleaveusand,accordingtoherfather,fartooyoungtohaveanynotionofwhatshewasabout.Beingquiteoldenoughtoknowexactlywhatshewasabout,shehadceasedtoarguethepointwithhimandhadproceeded,withallduerespectanddecorum,togetherselfmarriedanyway.
By late June, and with the wedding bills all paid atlast,Samwasstilldisconsolateandoutofsortsbecauseoftheholeinhislife.Idecideditwastimetodosome-thing—anything—toshakeupourroutineandinterrupt
�
chapter 1
No Palms in My Purse
theapparently interminableperiodofpaternalmourn-ing.Avacationseemedinorder.
ItisafairmeasureofmyconcernthatIevenmen-tioned such a thing. Rebecca, our seventh and lastacquisition,wasnotquite two, and theother five stillwithuswerescattered,atvariouslevelsofthehuman-izingprocess,betweenherandtheirnow-missingsister.AndIhatedfamilyvacations!
At that time in our lives and for obvious reasons,weownedone—actuallywehadownedandwornouta couple—of those huge overland Travelalls thatInternationalHarvesterusedtomakeforfolkswithourkind of problem. This particular Travelall, however,was still fairly new, and it was certainly still roadwor-thy.Granny,wholivedwithus,couldnolongersustainthe two days of hard driving that lay between us andFlorida’sAtlanticcoast,butIcouldtakeherandRebeccadownbyplane.Samcouldtaketheotherfivechildrenwithhimbycar,andwewouldmeetinOrlando.
The sea had always—in the days before children—revived Sam and me. Surely it would do so again.Beginning the trip atDisneyWorldwould set just therighttoneofexcitementandadventureforthechildrenandwouldmakethemwearyenoughtoenjoythesimpler
� No Palms in My Purse
lifeofsunningandswimming,whichSamandIwanted.AtleastthatwasthetheoryasIproposedittoSam.
Physicians—my physician husband anyway—don’ttake many vacations. They may leave town for thoseseminarsandmeetingsthatarenecessarytokeepthemabreast of developments in their field, but neitherSam nor either of his partners was ever enthusiasticabout being gone for very long. It was a measure ofSam’sdoldrums,therefore,thatheevenlistenedtomyproposition.Buthedid.Andonce the ideahadbeenstatedoutloud,likeanevilweeditnotonlygrewbutrefusedtodie.
For one thing, in a house with six children and agrandmother, even words shared in the dark of mid-night behind the closed doors of the upper bedroomare heard. They are whispered through the walls andinto the hours of the early morning. By noontimetheyaredisseminated,andbytwilighttheyarefact.Itwas sowithour vacation.At supper theeveningafterIhadmentioned the idea toSam,Grannywas tellinghimthattwoweeksinFloridawasexactlywhatweallneeded. He looked accusingly down the table at me,and truly innocent of the charges, I simply shrugged.Heshruggedback.Weweregoingonvacation.
No Palms in My Purse �
It took three weeks to arrange the excruciatingdetails of how Sam would leave behind the hospitaland his patients. Who would cover which night washardenoughtoestablish;thelonghoursofconsulta-tion over patient charts, worrying about who mightpossiblyget indistresswere impossible.Listening toitall,Irememberedwhywenevertookvacationsany-more,anditwasn’t justhavingallthosechildrenandagrandmother!
Finally,havingmanagedtoarriveatthehottestpartofJuly,wealsoarrivedattheappointedtimeforleav-ing.SamwastopulloutonSaturdaymorningwiththeTravelall,ourgear,andthekids,ifhecouldgetthemin.Granny,Rebecca,andIwouldfollowonSundayafter-noon.Itwas,therefore,lateFridayafternoonwhenSamdiscoveredthat,ifhegotthesuitcases,cameras,makeupkits, potty-chairs, floats, books, and coolers into theTravelall,he,infact,reallycouldn’tgetthekidsin.
HemadeahastytriptoSearsjustatsupperandspentfiftydesperationdollarstobuywhatSearscalled,ratherinelegantly,a“clamshell.”Thecontrivancewashinged,tracked to sit on top of the luggage racks of big sta-tionwagons,anddesignedtoholdeverythingyoueverwantedwithroomleftover forwhatyoucouldnever,everhaveneedof.
� No Palms in My Purse
WhatSearsdidn’ttellyou,ofcourse,wasthatonceyou got the thing in place, got it stuffed, and lashedit down, you couldn’t open it again until you got towhereyouweregoing—not,thatis,unlessyouwantedtounlash,unpack,andunloadthewholethingalloveragain. Since this rather obvious point had not beenimmediately apparent to us, Sam did have to unlash,unpack,andunloadjustbeforeteno’clockthatFridaynight. He showed, I must say, a remarkably negativeattitudeaboutthewholethingatthetime.
Bysixo’clockSaturdaymorning,however,afterfivehoursofmutteringsleep—hemutteredandslept;Ilaybesidehimandlistened—hewasreadytopulloutwithhispartofourménage.Hehadallof thekids exceptRebecca,oratleasthesaidhedid.Icouldn’tseeanyofthemthroughthewindowsbecauseofallthefloatsandmakeupkitsandpillowshehadhadtoretrievethenightbefore.ButatthatpointIwaswillingtotakehiswordforeverything,andhewas innomood tobecrossed.Sohepulledout,leavingmethirty-sixhoursinwhichtopreparemy soul for theordeal ahead—girdupmyloins,sotospeak—andtorepairthedamageDaddyandcompanyhadleftbehind.
Atnotquitetwo,Rebeccastillhadaviciouscaseofthatperfectlynormalmalady—thefavorite-blanketsyndrome.
No Palms in My Purse �
Wisd om in
the Wait ingSpring’s Sacred Days
p h y l l i s t i c k l e
Wisd
om
in the Wa
iting
Spring’ s Sacred Days
Tic
kl
e
S t o r i e s f r o m T h e F a r m I n L u c y
christianity/inspiration
Spring’s Sacred Days
The spring comes so quietly in the country—so without
announcement—that I walk into it morning after morning
without knowing until abruptly, on some perfectly ordinary day, I
think, It’s warm! and realize that I have already been jacketless and
easy in my kingdom for several such mornings. Faith is a bit like that,
I suspect, quiet and without announcement till it, too, seeps into our
clothing and our decisions and only at the last into our consciousness,
till it, too, cuts us loose from chores and clothes and the awkwardness
of ice underfoot. —from Wisdom in the Waiting
“In these luminous stories . . . Phyllis Tickle offers us the sacred dailyness of life—husband, farm, children, a rooster, a
woodpecker, the placid cows. Each tale provides a point of entry into the mysteries of Lent, Easter, Eucharist, Love.”
—Sophy Burnham, author of The Treasure of Montségur, A Book of Angels, and The Path of Prayer
“Phyllis brilliantly and sensitively weaves liturgical feasts and moods through the life of her family on the farm. This book . . . will open the door to a whole new world of joy and celebration of the important events in the life of every Christian.”
—Fr. Joseph F. Girzone, author, Joshua
phyllis tickle has been covering
religion for Publishers
Weekly for more than
a decade. As one of
the most respected
authorities on religion
in America today, she’s often featured on
NPR, the Hallmark Channel, CNN, and the
BBC, and is a frequent contributor to PBS’s
Religion & Ethics Newsweekly. She is the
author of the acclaimed multivolume series,
The Divine Hours, and the award-winning
memoir The Shaping of a Life. She has
been married for forty-eight years to her
physician husband, Sam. They have seven
children, twelve grandchildren, and nine
great-grandchildren, and make their home
on The Farm In Lucy, Tennessee.
Cover photo: © Gary W. Carter/Corbis
Jacket design: Megan Duffy Rostan
Wisdom in
the Waiting
O ur middle years can be viewed
as a sacred passage—a bridge
between the early formation of our lives
and our maturing. For Phyllis Tickle,
this bridge and time of growth are much
more a land and a place than a series of
changing events and circumstances.
The land is The Farm in Lucy, twenty
acres of working farm in rural West
Tennessee where Tickle and her husband
Sam raised seven children. A place of great
beauty and fertility, it richly rewarded the
labors of the Tickle family. Season after
season, The Farm grounded their lives
and cloaked them with grace, revealing
the goodness of God’s creation.
Wisdom in the Waiting is the second
in a series about The Farm In Lucy.
These lyrical tales celebrate the sacred
moments and luminous beauty that
burst forth each spring. From butterflies
in the bathroom to palm fronds, family
vacations, and “bleeding” birds, Tickle
inspires us to see the wisdom that has
been waiting for us all along.
$14.95