"I See The Moon"

On particularly beautiful moonlit nights, when in good company and feeling exuberant, I often start singing a song called “I See The Moon.” Its childlike melody and sweet lyrics are irresistible, and  a surprising number of people have asked me to teach it to them after  embarrassing myself by belting it out in public.

                                                                                                                                                                                    

I see the moon

And the moon sees me

And the moon sees somebody I want to see

So God bless the moon

And God bless me

And God bless the somebody I want to see

As a little girl, watching the moon and watching the moon “follow” me shaped my understanding of the omniscient God. It was a visible example of how God could see everyone at once, yet focus on each individual. The moon “followed” me, but it also “followed” my mother. Knowing this did not diminish by one iota the amount of love I felt when the moon trailed my four year old head around the yard, somehow finding me everywhere…finding me again a few nights later, ready to resume our game of hide-and-seek.

This continuous pursuit was, and is, deeply comforting. Humans need continuity. In a transient and disorienting culture, points of contact stabilize us. That the moon will be visible to us, its cycle permitting, whether we move from Boston to Botswana is a wonderful gift. If we are far from all that is familiar, we can look at the moon, and receive a sense of place and proportion on this earth. It is a beacon that reminds us that we are always home.

It is difficult to imagine a world where anything else could be the case: an empty sky, night after night, lacking an object that every soul on the planet could point to in recognition. How isolated would we feel across countries and cultures if we did not have the moon in common,  uniting us with its light and beauty? How dark and hopeless would the world at night be, if all it ever contained was unchanging blackness? 

Of course, the moon is not ever-visible in the sky. Its phases change, sometimes we see only a part of it, and sometimes nothing at all.  However, the glorious truth of the moon, as my four year old self found with delight, is that it always returns. We know that we will see its visage again.  Moreover, its very changefulness manages to surprise us with new loveliness, and fill us with a wonder that would not be possible if it always came to us in exactly the same way.

Psalm 19 claims that the night sky reveals something of God: “The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament showeth his handywork. Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night showeth knowledge.” The heavens, and indeed all of creation, speak to us in a language more meaningful than words. The handywork of God communicates directly with His creatures here on earth. It tells us about the Love that made us, and the Love that pursues us to this day.  

What does the moon say of God? I don’t know definitively, but I think it has said to me:

We are always under the moon’s sight. We are always under God’s sight. Because of our own lack of perspective, we cannot always see the moon. Because of our own lack of perspective, we cannot always see God.

No matter where we go or what we do, the moon never abandons us. No matter where we go or what we do, our Father never leaves us. We are always pursued and loved. We are always home.

The Scent of the South

I've been missing Virginia lately, but what I seem to remember most (besides, of course, the wonderful people) is the scent of my old home.

Scent is so different in the two states where I’ve lived.

Here, I am blessed to smell sea air as soon as I walk outdoors. I was brought up in its rhythms. I know the scent of a cold sea breeze versus a warmer one, and how it changes on the boardwalk and on the wide streets. I’ve felt the spaces in my mind expand upon inhaling. I recognize the peppery, sun-drenched scent of the sand and its creatures. I breathe in the gentle wind off the lake after it has wafted through trees. I anticipate the scents of cake baking downstairs, of onions frying, of garlic and cooked chicken, of tea with honey. I delight in the pleasure of well aired rooms, fresh bed linens, candles burning. I welcome the scent of incense at Mass and the perfumes of church ladies. All of these scents sum up home in my mind.

If my hometown’s scents are bright and invigorating, Virginia’s scents were heady and languid. Sure, there was the crisp fragrance of fresh-mowed lawns, coffee brewing in the shops, or spring breezes on the river. But overall the fragrance of Virginia seemed somehow older, permanent, full of wisdom. There was sunshine on brick paths as old as the Colonies, mossy trees, and dew-soaked grass. Indoor scents like waxed furniture, lemon polish, sachets, even gunpowder. The sweat of swing and contra dancers, and the hand lotion of good friends. Above all, the flowers- the fragile, yet timeless scent of magnolia. The sweet allure of wisteria. The pervasive benediction of Carolina jasmine.

Even the way scent travels is different in my two home states.

Here, fog always smells like the ocean. You can be miles past it, but if you close your eyes it seems like low tide is right next to you. The world is alive, beckoning, and full of possibility as you imagine places an ocean away.

In Virginia, mist smells lush and humid, as if it has carried every leaf, every bush, every ancient building and garden it has touched. Yet, for all its fullness it is not heavy, and the sweetness in the air is inescapable. The world seems older and settled in its ways, and there is comfort in the fact that all is both pleasant and unchanging.

I miss my Southern smells, especially the flowers- magnolia, wisteria, Carolina jasmine. I miss the presence of enormous trees and all of the secrets that they hold. I am grateful for scent memory, because even eight months later I can remember the joys of a world I’ve (for now) left behind.