Grace
The Hebrew word khen - sounds like ‘hen’ - means grace, and while the word grace carries various connotations, often in reference of the divine in the languages of the religious, I have long felt that grace factors into daily flow and implies anything that imbues a favourable response, something we are drawn to.
Beaubien, Conrad. Ridge Road. Ink on paper. 2022.
Carrying that further, I see grace referring to turkey vultures soaring on high in late afternoon. Grace is the landing of a family of geese on Consecon Lake; it is the shuttling of the Glenora ferries across the dawn waters of the Adolphustown Reach as contemplated from the high rise of Lake of the Mountain; grace is the grasses and sand dunes that form and reform in a late fall wind at Sandbanks when emptied of people. Grace is a vase of fresh flowers, a clothesline on washday parading in the wind. While holding appealing aesthetic or simple elegance, the poise of grace is something we often carry in our scrapbook of memories to retrieve in times of trouble.
Some of the most important eras when I search into that archive of remembrance is in times when the truth of meaning of grace reaches us like a life boat at sea, challenging times when the days face endless headwinds. Sometimes it is the simplest things we can do for ourselves that remind us of a sense of well being or dignity when all hell breaks loose. I regard it as a centre keel in a sailboat that can help keep us righted and off the rocks when the storms descend.
My personal instincts are to retreat into listening to music or to the quietness of where ever. In one instance while renovating a house that was to be the beginning of a new life, feelings of aloneness during an arduous task, especially on a cold rainy November day, the image of a sunny kitchen in winter with a simple table setting for tea came to me. In this instance I was able to release the immediate hardship I was up against as I began to stage a miniature new setting of possibilities. I swept out a corner of chaos of construction, I wiped thick dust off of a table and retrieved from a packing box a clean and neatly folded linen table cloth. A ‘Brown Betty, a version of the renowned English teapot I had inherited from my grandmother appeared. A china tea cup and saucer found new life and remembering to add the milk first to cool the tea while pouring seemed to also invite caring and loving voices into the theatre of my mind. The shift of emotions was a nudge to that of honouring oneself in times of strife; that we strive for the best we can be; about the imperfectness and incompleteness of much of life, yet it can still be fulfilling.
These days a visit to the paddock or a walk with my friend the donkey Thunder is all about grace in a timeless way. Good coffee at sunrise with nature sounds offers inner communion. Most recently sitting by the lake with a strong breeze was one of those short passages that help ground me. The huge expanse of water, the far horizon, the motion of the rise and fall of the waves was calming.
Another recent time, a visit and dinner outdoors at a farm with a home cooked dinner and a glass of good wine all the while sheep and ducks called from a distance told of how grace is also to be among those you love whose efforts are devoted to making the world a better place in whatever way possible.
