Lori's Tomatoes

 There is an older gentleman who goes to my church and can be seen most weekends in summer handing out homegrown vegetables to whoever is interested. He offers tomatoes, squash, and peppers to anyone he sees, no matter how well he knows them. Inevitably someone makes a comment about how he must be such a dedicated gardener and how much he must enjoy growing and eating from his substantial garden. He answers that he doesn't eat tomatoes or squash or peppers, he just plants them for his wife. This sounds like a sweet thing for him to do and she must be very grateful. What makes it even more sweet and nice is that she passed away more than a dozen years ago. Jake has been planting a garden for his dear deceased Lori for over a decade even though he doesn't eat anything that comes out of it.  This amazes me that he would show his love for so many years with such dedication. 

When she was alive, they were a very typical older couple; they had raised a larger family, and like most families, there had been some rough spots and stresses. They weren't the type to make a big public display of affection. But Jake still goes out every spring and plants a vegetable garden for Lori. One time I told him that I think of Lori whenever I eat one of the tomatoes and he muttered a thank you but I could see the depths of the thanks in his eyes.

I have not had to deal with the loss of a spouse or a child, but I hope if or when I do I can honor that person with the elegance Jake does.

In the Moment

 Not too long ago I had the pleasure of watching my one-year-old grandson at my house. He was fun to watch playing with his toys, checking to see if he could outsmart the baby-proof cabinet, and running down the hall to visit Grandpa. Then, after about forty-five minutes exhaustion hit and he was in tears. The only thing that calmed him down was snuggling up in my lap. Not only did he have to sit there, but he had to have my complete attention. If I picked up my phone or a book he started whining again. I realized that he wasn't going to be happy unless and until I was totally present to him. So we sat together and in a few minutes, his head dropped to his chest. I moved him to my shoulder and went back to my multitasking, but realized how important those moments with him were.

Afterward, I started thinking how that time of being totally present is something I do not strive for nearly enough; on the phone with my kids, listening to my husband talk about his interests that I do not necessarily share, in prayer. If I could focus and concentrate like that during mass, what would that do to my spiritual life? If I spent even a few minutes concentrating on my husband, how much could that improve my marriage?

Multitasking by itself is not a bad thing. If our minds did not drift to what we need to get done, many things would never get done. But maybe trying to be more present with our family and friends and more focused during prayer are good goals. We are not wired to laser focus on each task we do, but how wonderful it is when we have the opportunity to be totally present for a moment or two.