The Giving Tree

Slow Me Down, Lord

Ease the pounding in my heart

By quieting my mind.

Give me amidst the confusion of my day

The calmness of everlasting hills.

Break the tension of my mind

With the soft soothing music of thy singing and streams that live in my memory!

Help me to know they magical restoration of sleep!

Teach me the art of mini vacations,

Of slowing down to smell the flowers.

To breathe a prayer. To chat with a friend.

To pet a dog, to look at the sky.

Help me to take time to love people – appreciate them – compliment them!

To remember that today is the only day

I shall ever have to live in the eternal now.

Let me look upwards to the towering oaks

And remember that it grew great and strong

Because it grew slowly.

Remind me each day of the tale,

“The Tortoise and the Hare”

That I may know that the race is not always swift

And that there is more to life than increasing speed!

Slow me down Lord and let me

Begin living.

Amen!

This prayer – both timeless and articulate - was written 30 years ago by my grandmother, Virginia Belle Vesey Mundy.   Sixty years old when she penned this, she had already raised six sons and a daughter. The youngest, my Uncle Keith, was 17 at the time. Ironically, this was long before computers, e.mail, and cell phones were mainstream.  Yet the feelings she had then are exactly those I feel now, in 2014 at the ripe old age of 44.  Go figure.

And the beauty of her words, her eloquence!  I see and hear my dad there.  I see and hear me. Her liberal use of exclamation points! I love the mirror she provides, that we both appreciate so many of the same things in life.  Truly, the apple does not fall far from the tree.  No matter the distance, our connections endure.

My incredible grandmother turns 90 on October 6th and I am so, so proud to be one of her nineteen cherished grandchildren.  From the example she and my grandfather set for a long, enduring love – 68 years married (!) at the time of his passing – to the patience, unconditional love, and loyalty she extends to her beloved family and friends, we are all so blessed to have her in our lives.
The story of The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein comes to mind, the tale of a tree that gives and gives and gives.  Even when she feels she has nothing else to give, my grandmother finds a way. Always to fit one more in, feed one more, make one more person feel special and loved.

Her memory still sharp, she loves to share stories from her childhood, my father’s, mine. She repeats these tales so we won’t forget. Writes down memories in her many cards and letters. Keeps the pictures we send her of our lives and kids for awhile, then puts them in a big binder or photo album, and sends them back – all filled up, our memories for our keeping because she no longer has a need for *STUFF*.  Nope – my grandma's downsizing wherever she can, getting rid of that which she no longer needs and she sends it off to its new rightful home; my grandmother is making sure that her *STUFF* will all have gotten to where she wanted it to go.

Like the pretty leather chair I complimented her on some time ago.  Her response: “Good! That’s yours. I’ll make sure you have it someday.” Now me, I don’t really like this kind of talk. Would rather avoid it at all costs. But my Grandma won’t let me. She brings the chair up frequently. And as pretty as that chair is, I like it right where it is: at my Grandma’s keeping her company while she reads one of her many paperback books, writes another keepsake note to one of nineteen adoring grandchildren, and patiently awaits her next much-anticipated visitor.  But to be fair to my grandmother, I will always love that chair – be it at her house or mine – and whenever I see it, I will remember her and all that we’ve shared and all that she has given to me, material and immaterial alike. I will be grateful, once again, for her generous spirit and the good in her that got passed down to me.

A while back, I wrote the following poem called “The Art of Giving Thanks”. In re-reading it, I realize, yet again, that there truly are “a hundred ways to kneel and kiss the ground”. Her prayer, my poem:  different words, similar message.  Slow down. Take life in.  Be thankful.

This week, as my family prepares to celebrate my Grandmother and her ninety lovely years, I am filled with gratitude for the woman she is, the seeds she has so lovingly sown and reaped, and the indelible mark she has made on my life.
(Thank you Grandma! You are, and will always be, our mighty oak.)