- Marie Laure
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- Jul 23, 2024
- 3 min read
Updated: Jul 24, 2024
While the whole world held its breath for an interminable week with the highest stakes imaginable in the balance, we were given a lesson in Grace. We needed it. There have been few moments in recent times when being an American has felt righteous. President Joe Biden gave us that gift as he gracefully gave up the highest and most prestigious position anyone might aspire to.
Aging “Baby Boomers”, including myself, have acquired a lifetime of learned experience. If we have learned anything at all, I hope it is to respect our elders. My parents and teachers harped on it when I was a youngin’. I thought it meant to be polite when in the company of my grandparents. Easy enough.
Our elders have much to teach us. We have much to learn from them. Yet, we disgrace our elders when we discard them along with their wisdom. Who among us hasn’t rolled our eyes at a dawdling parent, or a spouse slowing us down? By doing so, we dishonor them and deny the fact that “There, but for the Grace of God, go I.” And, if we ourselves get that far, let’s hope for kindness and gentleness from those around us.
Indigenous cultures across our country know a thing or two about elders which they say is “not defined by age, but recognized because they have earned the respect of their community through wisdom, harmony and balance of their actions in their teachings”. *
By definition, President Biden has earned his Elder Statesman title.
“. . .there are common principles that Elders try to instill in their community members such as respect for the natural world and that the earth is their mother. Indigenous Elders are deeply committed to sharing their knowledge, providing guidance, teaching others to respect the natural world, to learn to listen and feel the rhythms of the elements and seasons.”*
Just last night before turning out the light, I read a beautiful poem that probably planted the seed for this blog which in turn may plant a seed in your thoughts. After reading it, share it with someone who might need a graceful reminder.
There’s a Meadow There’s a meadow beyond the back pasture of my grandpa’s old farm, and when I was a city kid, it scared me—that vast openness brimming with nothing but wildflowers, insects, and birds. Grandpa often took me there to read and think. The reading I didn’t mind, but I had no idea what to think. “Relax your mind, Jenny Bell,” he’d say. And so we’d lie there on his red-checkered blanket, staring at the endless expanse of sky, making shapes out of the cottony clouds, pieces of grass between our teeth. The hum of insects would make me drowsy, but I’d stay awake. Grandpa would eventually tell me his thoughts, mostly about how to invent new tractors or what to name the new calves that were nearly born. One time, I surprised myself by telling him about middle school and how I didn’t like Harvey Winters because he stuck gum on people’s seats and made fun of the freckles on my nose. “Why do you suppose he does that?” Grandpa asked. That’s where all the thinking came in—"I suppose it’s because his mama is dead, and he doesn’t have a good daddy,” I said. Grandpa made an umm hmm noise, but didn’t add anything. He let me think some more. Over the years, Grandpa and I shared lots of thinking time, and nearly every one ended with—why do you suppose. Grandpa died when I was twenty-three, right after I graduated with a psychology degree. But every now and then, I leave my office and return to the farm. I lie down in that back meadow, a blade of grass between my teeth, and I talk to Grandpa just like I used to. When I’m puzzling things out in life, I hear his voice, Why do you suppose? And I find my answers floating among clouds shaped like lions while a butterfly rests on my chest. |
Arvilla Fee teaches English Composition for Clark State College and is the managing editor for the San Antonio Review. She has published poetry, photography, and short stories in numerous presses, including Contemporary Haibun Online, Calliope, North of Oxford, Rat’s Ass Review, Mudlark, and many others. Her poetry books, The Human Side and This is Life, are available on Amazon. For Arvilla, writing produces the greatest joy when it connects us to each other. To learn more about her work, you can visit her website: https://soulpoetry7.com/
