Tag Archives: resistance

Joy is The Light We Bring

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I’ve learned that holding tightly to one’s sense of wonder and joy is a form of resistance to the negative forces in the world, so I decided I would pay closer attention to the beauty and delight that surround me. I will stand up and fight back by finding ways to enjoy the ordinary pleasures and gifts that are worth fighting for and that give us the motivation to join the fray.

We need Joy as we need air. We need Love as we need water. We need each other as we need the earth we share.
Maya Angelou

I am not a plant person. I like plants, but let’s face it, I’m not that great at keeping them alive. I’ve admitted my inadequacy to myself, and I’ve told the leafy ones that share their lives with me that sometimes they are just going to have to fend for themselves. I know…tough love. At present, I have two Schefflera plants that my sister gave me from slips of plants that were given to our family after the death of each of our parents. Last summer, I set the two plants out on the deck so they could bask in the sunlight and enjoy the deliciously warm, rain. Near the end of the season, I brought them back inside, where they continued to create new leaves and stretch for the ceiling. A few weeks ago, much to my delight and surprise, I noticed another plant growing in one of the pots. It seems that while they were lodging beneath the planter boxes on the deck railing, a seed from one of the nasturtiums had fallen into the pot. After months of lying dormant, the wee seed had taken root and emerged into the light. I was overjoyed.

The fragile stems direct the leaves toward the light.
Montpelier, April 2025

Joy bursts in our lives when we go about doing the good at hand and not trying to manipulate things and times to achieve joy. C.S. Lewis

The unexpected discovery of this tiny new life bursting forth from a single seed determined to live even in the unfamiliar soil of a shared pot brought me great joy and was wonderfully life-affirming. Often, that is how joy manifests itself in the simple, the mundane, and the overlooked. If we allow it, the joy will come, and yet these moments of pure bliss are often fragile and ephemeral. Like a soap bubble whose iridescence disappears in the sun, joy cannot be bound or held forever. We must glory in its wonder while we can.

Not long after making the discovery of my tiny green friend, I awoke one morning to a painful discovery. During the night, Effie, my automatic vacuum cleaner, had gotten tangled in the tender stems, and only two small leaves were still hanging on. My joy had quickly turned to despair; a reminder that often that which brings us joy must be nurtured, protected, and encouraged whenever possible. The Psalmist tells us that ‘weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.’ Happiness and sorrow, as I have learned, are simply opposite sides of the same coin and often come hand in hand. Joy will come in the morning, but the night may return with pain and weeping.

Having spent most of my life in the company of children, I’ve been privileged on many occasions to witness the loss of a tooth. At first, the child worries the tooth with their tongue, playfully working at it as it loosens. Tiny fingers then begin to wiggle, wiggle, wiggle that tooth. Forget math and reading, at that moment, life is all about the loose tooth.

The most difficult and most painful part of this adventure comes next. The child, the waiting fairy, and the tooth itself all want the tooth out, but fear and the anticipated pain of removing it result in hesitation and require decisions. Should they use one of the various string-around-the-tooth methods or just reach up and yank that baby outta there? Regardless of the method decided upon for the extraction, the result is almost always the same. Fear and trepidation distort the child’s face, usually accompanied by a few tears. Pulling a tooth, especially the first few, isn’t easy. The child wants to do it, but doubts that they can until ultimately they do. Triumph! With the tooth out, the facial expression changes immediately into one of amazement and delight. The bloody tooth held tightly in tiny fingers is presented with more pride, satisfaction, and euphoria than a World Series trophy, a Super Bowl ring, or the Masters green jacket. It is pure, unadulterated joy.

Unadulterated JOY
Image: Pixabay AI

Joy may change its form, but it will return. Two days ago, I noticed a very tiny shoot with three infant leaves coming from what remained of the original plant. With determination and tenacity, it was holding on to life and sending out tiny, delicate green leaves. Joy! Joy! Joy! My heart with joy was ringing! Elation!

Death and New Growth Together in One Plant
Montpelier, April 2025

“Joy does not simply happen to us. We have to choose joy and keep choosing it every day.”
— Henri J.M. Nouwen

I often ruminate on the idea of Joy. I know that it’s often unexpected and fragile, and I know that if I wait patiently I will find it again. I need to recognize it, nurture it, and appreciate it for what it is. Joy, like love, demands that we be open, vulnerable, and brave. Just like pulling that tooth…there may be moments of fear, apprehension, and unease before reaching the ultimate joy.

Even on the darkest days somewhere a candle flickers. Its dancing flame courageously fighting to hold on to the mystery of its burning. Recognizing joy and wonder, nurturing it in our memories, and holding it tightly in our hearts becomes the light we bring to the darkness giving us the courage to carry on.

Doors and Windows, Cows and Resistance

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The playground of the school I attended from First through Third grade was adjacent to a field of cows. The rusting wire fence separating the cows and the children had been erected, no doubt, to protect the children from wandering heifers, but it was just as probable that it was there to protect the cows from curious children. Most of the time, the cows and children simply ignored one another, but on occasion, when my friends were busy on the slide, swings, or monkey bars, I’d wander over and visit with the cows. Looking into their big brown eyes, I’d tell them about all the classroom activities and confide my deepest feelings, questions, and dreams as they lay quietly in the shade of the trees that lined the fence. They weren’t the best conversationalists but were very patient when I’d stretch my wee fingers through the grate to scratch their heads, and they were exceptional listeners.

Another Bovine Friend Next to an English Footpath

I have much in common with those bovine friends. I, too, like to sit quietly and ruminate on things. I enjoy chewing on conversations well after the original participants have moved on. I chomp, gnaw, and devour an idea entirely before swallowing, spitting it out, or wandering in search of fresh clover. Sometimes, I reach a satisfying conclusion, but just as often, my pondering takes me in an entirely new direction.

On November 5th, as the election results revealed the inevitable, I could feel myself sinking into a deep funk. Determined not to continue the downward slide into the bottomless pit of hopelessness and despair and also consciously aware that joy and beauty are a form of resistance, I sought ways to bring joy back into my life, to recognize the wonder and beauty that had already manifested there, and to enjoy the breathing space between November and the January inauguration.

It was only natural that I would find comfort and pleasure at the intersection of my two favorite hobbies…travel and photography. In this age of computers, the combination of travel memories and the digital photos that documented them was right there at arm’s length on my laptop. As I drove, sailed, and urban-hiked through past adventures, I smiled at the faces of family and friends, both old and new. I remembered the awe I experienced inside grand cathedrals, standing beneath spectacular mountains, or walking beside the boundless ocean. As I reminisced, I noticed that in addition to churches and the plethora of flower pictures…they are such patient subjects…I had unconsciously created a fair collection of images of windows and doors.

  • Cochem, Germany
  • Montacatini, Italy
  • Boston, MA, USA
  • Strasbourg, France
  • Star Island, NH USA
  • Speyer, Germany
  • Munich, Germany
  • Star Island, NH
  • Strasbourg, France
  • Mittenwald, Germany
  • Woods Harbour, Nova Scotia CA
  • Edinburgh, Scotland UK
  • Stratford, Ontario CA
  • Edinburgh, Scotland

Perhaps it was serendipity, synchronicity, or the machinations of some random internet algorithm, but just as I explored my collection of doors and windows, I came across a Facebook group with the clever name…wait for it… Doors and Windows. It’s a public group. Anyone can join, and everyone following the rules is invited to share.

Taking a break from my own photos, I was soon lost in a myriad of images from all over the world. The variety was captivating, and like eating peanuts or potato chips, I could not stop at just one. Scrolling through example after example, I found the distraction I sought. Before long, however, it wasn’t enough to simply admire the photos. I was curious to know more. I wasn’t satisfied with the photographer’s name or where the door or window was located; I began to ponder the very notion of windows and doors and why we are drawn to memorialize them in paintings, photography, and even songs. I thought I’d be taking a deep dive, and although many others have taken that plunge, it seemed after some contemplation to be a juxtaposition of the basic and the complicated, and that was in itself the answer.

  • Kues, Germany
  • Cologne, Germany
  • Honfleur, France
  • Star Island, NH USA
  • Innsbruck, Austria
  • Seefeld, Austria
  • Montpelier, VT USA
  • Montreal, Quebec, CA
  • Honfleur, France
  • Florence, Italy
  • Seefeld, Austria
  • Glen Coe, Scotland UK
  • Valduz, Liechtenstein

Doors and windows are the physical manifestation of our lives’ duality. They represent the known and unknown, what is and what might be, welcoming and inviting, or a barrier against the outside world. We hang wreaths, add painted decorations, and sometimes post a sign or notice inviting us in or imploring us to Beware of the Dog. Bright layers of chipped paint, door frames no longer at right angles, and brass handles polished by the many hands that used them provided more opportunities for questions and reflection. I found the glorious color of stained glass in cathedral windows, the countless panes in a city of skyscrapers, and the cracked and broken glass in humble and neglected buildings equally fascinating.

Of course, try as I might, I could only ignore the inauguration and the firehose of executive orders for so long. I was overwhelmed by the rapid pace of edicts and proclamations, which was the intent. However, I was still determined to resist. The only way someone could conquer my resolve was if I was willing to let them.

Then I remembered another bovine friend from my childhood brought to life through Robert Lawson’s pen and ink illustrations in Ferdinand the Bull by Monro Leaf. While all the other little bulls like to run, jump, and butt heads together, Ferdinand loved to sit quietly and smell the flowers. Like the cows in Mr. Peterson’s field next to the school, he was content to sit in the shade, delight in the fragrant flowers, and lose himself in dreams of…well…whatever it is that bulls dream.

He paid little attention to the arrival of men looking for contestants…or victims… for the fights in Madrid. Ferdinand knew they would never choose him because he wasn’t interested in looking fierce and strong. He’d be fine, and the flowers were so inviting.

When Ferdinand accidentally sits on a bee and goes wild from the pain of the sting, the men from Madrid can’t help but take notice. They’d never seen anything like him.

Had I become Ferdinand, content to tune out the coming storm in favor of sitting quietly, going through photos, and reflecting on the meaning of doors and windows? Whether I was paying attention or not, the matador was entering the ring, and I felt the sting.

I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve the world and a desire to enjoy the world. This makes it hard to plan the day. E. B. White

It’s true all the time, but in these challenging days, we are confronted head-on with the duality of our choices. Do we stay engaged, take action, or seek joy and beauty? These choices seem at odds, but perhaps that polarity is necessary. Bearing witness to hateful rhetoric and compassionless actions fills us with soul-destroying poison. The antidote comes in the form of kindness, justice, laughter, and appreciation of the wonder of the natural world surrounding us. Perhaps the lesson the windows and doors were teaching is that, at times, we need to be on the metaphorical outside…Doing Something and occasionally retreating inside, making space to rest, refresh, regroup, and simply revel in being alive. Resistance takes many forms.

When Ferdinand, the gentle bull who liked to sit quietly and smell the flowers, reached the bull ring in Madrid, he simply sat down—a common form of protest and what he did best. The story ends with him returning to his favorite tree to sit quietly and smell the flowers.

These times are scary as hell, but doors are waiting to be opened, and in a few months, flowers will bloom. I’m not ready to give in to despair. I will resist.

Flowers in the Window
Edinburgh, Scotland 2022