Cultivation

Birthdays.  They're not my favorite.  There are too many in this house.  And spaced poorly to boot.  I should've been Jehovah's Witness when it comes to birthdays...I'd rather skip them.  I crumble under the pressure of providing a sense of celebration or fanfare.  Presents are always difficult.  I hate spending money for the sake of spending money.  I'm not a buyer of wants...I'm more of an as-needed shopper.

So this is what I offer:  Dinner of your choosing.  Cake of your choosing with our neighbors.  Presents: TBD by birthday person.

I love offering birthday meals.  The food I make -- I put love and good feelings into it.  It tastes good. I choose my ingredients with care and consciousness.  I put them together not by measurements, but by feel and by intuition and, most importantly, by taste.  Our time together around the table is another kind of gift in my book.

And cakes -- I love the birthday cakes of our past.  Each one has been a testament to where each boy was in his life at that time.  We were stuck in Batman for many, many years.  Honestly, I'm glad those days are mostly over.  How many times can a person make a Batman cake?  How many different ways?  Batman.  The Batman.  Batman Beyond.  Lego Batman.  You name, I made it.

My personal favorite birthday cake?  Glad you asked.  It's simple.  No brainer.  Carrot.

Which brings us to carrots.  One of our favorite books in this house is The Carrot Seed by Ruth Krauss.  If you haven't read it, here you go:

We first heard about the book from a song.  It's available here.  Well worth the listen.

So we've been reading this book and I've been thinking about that type of dedication to an eventuality that has yet to reveal itself.  It takes faith.  It takes determination, perseverance, effort.  The cultivation of something from almost nothing; the regular maintenance of a patch of blank, with merely the hope that something develops; the every day exercise of plucking out that which isn't fruitful to make space for that which is -- the task is daunting.  

And so I ask myself:  What am I cultivating?  Daily in this life, I know I'm making strides in a direction.  Most days, I'm not sure where to.  Hourly, I'm course correcting, redirecting -- my energy, my focus, my attention.  Each minute, I'm aware that there's effort involved; trudging along feels like work.  

But I found my carrot -- one of many -- the other day.  It popped up right before my eyes.  And it looked like this...

My morning was busy and full of errands.  Groceries for birthday dinner.  An agreed upon present to be bought.  More groceries for glorious cake.  And in the middle of all those errands, as I was walking to my car, my cart full up of ingredients for a life well-lived topped off by a huge, gift-wrapped, luxurious present, I passed a man.  With a sign.  "Hungry.  Homeless.  Anything helps."  We made eye contact, with a knowing head nod, as I passed by to my car.  

As I started unloading my goods into my car, the conversation in my head sounded like this, and LOUD:  I am the single mother of four boys.  I have three, four jobs.  I work tirelessly to provide for my family.  What is my obligation to him?  Am I only feeding his dependence on hand-outs if I give him something?  Should I give him food instead of money?  What's my responsibility here?  To my kids?  To a stranger?  What's the right thing to do?

I turned from the cart back to my car when I heard a voice.  "Boy or girl?" I looked back.  There he stood.  

"Excuse me?"

"Boy or girl?  The present?  Whose birthday?"

"My son."

He reached for his pocket.  Retrieved a dollar.  

"No," I said.  

"Yes," he replied.

"I can't," I insisted.

"You must," he responded.  "I want to do it."  Stuck the dollar under the ribbon on the huge purple package.  

"No," I repeated.

"It's what I want to do with what I have.  Makes me happy."

I stood in stunned silence as he turned and walked away.

Carrot.  A bigger carrot than I could have ever hoped for.  That day's yield...far greater than expected.