Dona Nobis Pacem ~ Gather Your Tribe

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Grant us peace.

My 2016 peace post is called

Gather Your Tribe

She's been pulling things out of the closets and attic for weeks. My mother. 
Clothes, pottery, pictures, memories, toys, albums. She has not been well and well....I guess she felt it was time to get some things in order. Have you noticed that when people physically slow down their words get longer? And deeper.  Measured. Transparent.

Maybe it's all about the struggle.

Ain't nobody got time to blog for peace. Really, Miss Pencil Skirt? You want people to plop down a rosy picture on the subject of one of the greatest mysteries in life in the middle of the one of the worst years for strife we've ever seen? Really, Mimi?

Peace bloggers everywhere (myself included) are finding it challenging to come up with even one reason to be hopeful or optimistic in the world we live in today. I don't need to reiterate the obvious.  Just check your newsfeed every hour and you'll see all manner of inhuman atrocities, filthy immoral scandals, rumors of war in the newest of places, and people teetering on the edge of not being able to cope anymore.

"Go on, Mimi...try on this scarf. I wore it when I was in high school," Mama said.

Mama's scarf

    Money rules the world in every direction I look; lack of it or abuse of it for power's sake. We are seeing whole tribes of people being uprooted and moved to the next nation until somebody figures out what to do with them. Children never sleep while the hovel around them crumbles. And on our side of the planet, I see unspoken concern and despair on the faces of people. Worry. Sickness. No health insurance. Jobs are scarce and underpaying. People are stressed beyond anything I've seen and hurting with no end in sight. 
While we're forced to watch the vileness of the most shameful American election I've ever witnessed,  families are using and losing all they have just to pay the bills. They still manage to get up and go to work to make $12.00 an hour to feed a family of six while two billionaires banter back and forth about who contributed the most to charity on their tax returns.

Everyday average people don't want to hear that. 

They just want a fair shot at the kind of prosperity given to the wealthiest among us. 

We need a government that understands how average income people are struggling and set about to correct the inequalities and injustices. People are tired of constant stress.

But back to the closet cleaning.
My mother told me of a lingering memory she has of her own mother.  She remembers seeing her walk to work down the middle of the railroad tracks in the early morning and back home again at night - sewing in a hosiery mill to feed five children. It didn't matter if she was sick, she'd still go to work. And there was never enough to eat.

Women know the sacrifice and the value of work and that is why we

 keep things.

 It's in our DNA.

Women treasure things that belonged

 to another female member of their tribe.

Because we know the value of things is not things.

So when she pulled out a bag full of scraps, scarves, jewelry and wedding lace, it felt like a sacred moment between us and all who walked before.  Another torch of strength passed from her hand to mine. 

The gloves

These were her gloves.

 Given to my mother.

And now given to me. 

It's almost like I have her hands.

So,  I put them on.

And suddenly I felt my grandmother's touch.  Hands that braided my hair into French braids over and over at night. I would mess it up just so I could feel her strong and gentle hands again. She tried to teach me to do it myself, but I secretly didn't want to learn.

My great-grandmother's handmade monogrammed handkerchief is to the left, along with a set of emerald green jewelry that I saw my grandmother wear from time to time - a gift from Papa.
Given to my mother.
And now given to me.

My beautiful grandmother, who gave me the wrinkle in my nose, never told me about the railroad tracks or the poverty. She wouldn't talk about it. But I saw a strength and a dignity in her that could only be carried by one whose weary body and soul sought to feed hungry children with all the might she had. 

The gloves and the jewelry came later when Papa walked into her life. 
And oh, she knew the value. Stitched with love. Chosen with love. Worn with love.
Cherished through three generations.

Great-grandmother's monogrammed handkerchief

If I could talk to that girl on the railroad tracks, the one with the heaviest of hearts, I would tell her to watch and wait...for you're about to be blessed by the hand of love. Not only you, but your children and their children and their children too. It will only take one. Just him. But he's enough.
And he will give you the gift of gloved hands and jewels.

And tonight, just for you Grandmother, I will wear them.

Tribe

If there's power enough in the seas

and power enough in the waves

to land upon feet 

of Giants and Fleets

then there's power enough

 in the least

For man is a jewel

man of sandstone and lime

fashioned headlong thru tumbling brine

designed by a Hand

that shapes trellis and tribe

each one molded

thru eons of time

Gather your tribe

and don't let go

No matter the trouble it brings

When the world is askew

and all's said and done

Wait for love

It only takes one

Goodnight Grandmother

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