THE GIFT

A few nights ago I had an interesting experience. Our washing machine discontinued working and no matter how I coaxed it, the agitator just would not agitate. (Although I found myself becoming more and more agitated!)
I decided that the clothes really weren't clean, as they had just sat in soapy water and then spun. I filled the washer with soapy water again, but when the agitator did not 'wash' the clothes, I took a clean 'toilet plunger' and for 10 minutes 'plunged' the clothes for the wash cycle. Then at the rinse cycle I did the same again.
The interesting part of this experience were the thoughts that came to my mind as I manually 'washed' the clothes.
I thought of all the people in all the world's history that have had to haul clothes to a stream and beat them on the rocks to get them clean. I thought of the women mostly, who's entire days were spent washing and cleaning and cooking.
I marvled at how simple, even this action of 'plunging' my clothes, was for me as compared to the myriad of women who toiled and labored to do just what I was doing. And, I thought about the great blessings brought about by the industrial revolution and the conveniences of our modern homes.
With each downward plunge, I counted the blessings that I enjoy each and everyday of my life.
I wondered if I am taking advantage of all the time I have been given, as opposed to other women throughout the world's history who had literally no time for themselves.
And that led me to my favorite poem, written by Alma Deane Feller in April 1989 called, The Gift. I share it here with you.

It's time.
It's time again,
For evening chores.
My hands are cracked,
And red and sore.
But there is milking
To be done.
My body is tired.
My spirit is tired.
I am weary.

I have not heart to see
The glory of the sky
As sunset sits
Outside my cabin door.
Because -
Because -
I want so to paint it.
And I have only time
For crying children
And unweeded gardens
And unbaked bread
And tears for my child
Lying so quietly
Just beyond the outer fence.

I have not heart to hear
The glory of the wind
Blowing gentle, savage,
Creating a cacophony
Or a symphony
Or a lullabye.
I cannot set to music
These celestial sounds
Echoing in
My heart and spirit.
I have only time, just now,
For survival.
Survival of body
And spirit
And faith
And testimony.

But you, my sister
Whom I see, so far away,
Hovering in the future.
You - you will have the time
And the canvas
And the pen
And the tools -
To you I give my gift
Of survival
And yearning.

You are the fruit
Of my spirit's garden.
My talent is in trust
To you.
And this, my gift
And testament to you
Will be, in time,
Your gift
To me.

God gave us all the same air to breathe and with it, I believe He also gave us something meaningful, for each of us to do with our lives. You and I have been given the gift of time and opportunity.
Today, I challenge each of us to set our sights to gathering the strength of all those women who have gone before, and entrusted their hope and testaments, to those of us who live in such a glorious time and place.
And with that strength, may we each be able to hold on a little longer, try a little harder, give a little more, and reach with more enthusiasm for our dreams. And in doing so, may that be our gift to those women who have suffered and stretched and given more than we can ever know just to serve their families.