The other night, I was awakened by what turned out to be gentle drips.
Something was happening, something unusual, in my little corner of Southern California.
It was raining. Well, not *raining* raining per se, more of a drizzle; a soft summer drizzle that felt like a mist as I stood there on the porch and watched and listened. It was still warm; I didn’t need a sweater or a robe as I made my way with bare feet down the steps and stood on the walkway and let the mist envelop me
It’s different at night here at Casa Tikka. Usually you hear crickets, and dogs (though less of that now. Tikka Rose used to lead the choir, and the whole little gully sang along), and birds. It was quiet that night though. All I heard was the gentle sound as the mist and drizzle accumulating and forming into droplets, which then dropped onto the flower beds and the concrete and the porch steps.
It was beautiful. So peaceful. I stood there long enough to get not so much soaked as damp; feeling the warm gentle mist, marveling at something I hadn’t experienced in years, if ever; certainly not here at Casa Tikka. Eventually the rain stopped, replaced by a gentle wind that rustled my nightdress, and the dampness made for a cooling on my face and arms. Eventually I went inside, loath to change into another nightgown or even towel off. The rain had felt like renewal; a reminder to me to never forget the essentials of life.
Inside, I did begin to feel a bit chilly, so I put the kettle on while I changed. My hair (or what’s left of it), usually hidden under a wig, looked like it had been sprinkled with so many diamonds. I turned my head this way and that in the bathroom mirror and smiled at my crown. Settled back in, with a cup of something warm, I reflected on my life and the life of our beloved community.
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Rain and warmth and air. Essential elements for life. Needed for our shared scrappy little orange trees, as we go deep, and plant roots, so new green leaves can grow up and out and then, and then, grow out.
So it is for us. Refreshing water can sometimes be hard to come by; some of us have been parched. Life can indeed do that.
We are mist; together we form drops that nourish.
And warmth–that sweet spot between a soulless cold that stunts nascent shoots, and scorching heat that withers new growth. We need warmth, too. We do.
And air–freedom to breathe with capacity, volition, and agency, and to allow others the space to breathe too. To make up our own minds; come to our own conclusions. Air fragranced by Hesed.
Our individual walks are all somewhat different, as we walk with shared purpose and conviction toward North Star. Some of us walk briskly, taking in huge breaths and breathing out with gusto; some of us walk at a more deliberate pace, grateful for those just ahead of us clearing a path. Others walk with canes and walkers and roll in chairs–afflictions both literal and metaphorical.
No one gets left behind.
All of us with tool belts swinging on our hips, with new ways of being and seeing and doing; each of us with two water bottles that, miracle of miracles, never seem to run dry. One for us; the other for The Other; new walkers on the path, whose tool belts are less full. All given with warmth; not distant aloofness, nor with grandiose glad-handing; but rather with calloused hands and shining eyes. The ground gives under our feet; slightly damp, but holding each of us up.
People want to find kindred; a place where they belong. And they are scared to death to find kindred compatriots. Wanting and fearing knowing and being known. Afraid to stumble, so they never take up the path at all.
Walking in semi-dark is a risk. Holding the warm hand of another is too. Accepting a sip from unknown water bottles–particularly in these days and current realities–can be a risky choice indeed.
But for those of us who take the small but real risk of vulnerability, trust, and resilience here in the orchard of Lace on Race, the rewards are many.
Refreshing rain; enveloping warmth; respite in breeze.
We find all of this in the Hesed Hearts of those who walk alongside. In stillness and shared purpose.
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Eventually, sounds came back to the shallow gully where Casa Tikka makes its homestead. First crickets; then one dog, then others, then finally roosters and songbirds as the sun came up.
There is always Life, always Growth. It always returns; washed and renewed in nature’s mikvah, where each drop of dew heralds a new day; a new beginning. The smell after a rain, even a small summer rain, is so fragranced–and I do believe that I smelled the faintest hint of orange.
So it is with us.
The kettle’s always full. Watch the sun rise with me.
With Love,
Your Lace
You will find this meditation, and so much more in the July Newsletter! Look for it!
As we go into our final days of July, we are again at a real deficit; one I refuse to believe is our ‘New Normal’; I choose to believe in the shared commitment of the community to tangibly partner with us and to allow us to serve.
Candor: a lot of you, perhaps most of you, still believe that we will make a way without you. And so far, we have.
But it has come at a real cost.
If we continue to deplete, we will indeed be forced to turn to our major gift that our community received. While those funds are indeed unrestricted, to use them for our day to day operations means that much less for scholarships, and fellowships, and microloans; all of which are in the pipeline so we can spread our ethos and our mission far and wide. Even then, those funds are finite; they are not at all unlimited. Unrestricted, yes. But not unlimited.
I believe in us; believe that we have so much to do, and believe in the work we are doing, have done, and will do for years to come. And I believe that you want us to stick around. Candidly: the community needs to show it in a way that has not happened since February.
All that we want to do and be can happen. But only with your financial engagement. Please consider partnering with us, either as a monthly sustainer, or a la carte. Our PayPal is paypal.me/LaceonRace. We deeply appreciate you and your choice to look to and partner with our Western Star; the health and long term stability of this space. I deeply thank you.
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