A Magnolia in the Twilight

Last week, I wrote about what intentional living looks like when life doesn't feel very slow. Apparently life wasn't quite finished teaching me that lesson.

Sometimes, no matter how present and intentional you try to be, things happen that you simply cannot control.

But you can choose how you move through them.

Something happened at work that immediately reprioritized everything for the week.

My mother is changing.

“Faith,” the sourdough starter, changed too — although hers involved some unwelcome bacteria.

And a magnolia blossom bloomed.

I noticed the blossom one evening on my after-dinner walk.

Okay… let’s be real.

My after-dinner stroll.

I love walking slowly enough to notice the world around me. The sunset. The moon coming out early. Neighbors along the way. And, this week, a magnolia blossom.

One evening, it was a beautiful bud in the twilight.

The next evening, it was fully open.

I wondered how many people had passed by and never even noticed.

Some changes we welcome. Some disappoint us. Some scare us. And some happen so gradually that we don’t realize they’ve happened until suddenly, we’re looking at something different.

Tomorrow, I’ll finally make soap with the alkanet infusion that’s been sitting on my shelf for a couple of months, slowly turning the olive oil a deep, beautiful color.

I started it because I’m looking for a natural purple for a soap that will someday honor my mom and her journey with Alzheimer’s.

It feels right to make that little test batch now, just before I go home to spend a couple of weeks caring for her.

I don’t know what color the soap will become.

And if I’m being honest, I don’t completely know what I’m going to find when I get to Mom’s either.

There are some things we simply can’t know ahead of time.

But we can slow down and pay attention.

We can notice the magnolia before it blooms.

We can notice it again when it does.

We can write down the Bible verse. Take the walk. Hold a granddaughter’s hand while we have a “funeral” for Faith, the sourdough starter who served us well for several years before developing the dreaded pink streaks.

We can start over.

We can make the soap.

We can be with our people.

We can be here for the life that is happening right now.