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Failures and Gibbous Moons

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My failures have fallen like bread crumbs behind me over the years and decades, and I can trace my steps back to those times at rapid speed. The past is never far away. Some of the failures are not merely crumbs, but lumpy, massive loaves that cannot be overlooked, that trip me up with each return, that mark my defeat for all to see. Those massive loaves of failure were life-changers, and I have yet to see ‘the good’ that supposedly comes from the path not taken. (And that is not a good feeling for an optimist.) In a ‘winner’ world, my failures plainly show that I am not one of those—no accolades, no trophies, no cheers, and no prize money. Sorry, you lose. Go to the back of the line. Laughter, whispers, and talk behind my back. The failures are bright, they glow in the dark, and when I walk—forwards or backwards in time—they pull my attention towards them. In a big six decades of life, my failures are phosphorescent.

There are times each month when we step out into the night and our eyes are instantly drawn to the bright orb of the gibbous moon. Gibbous comes from a root word that means hump-backed or something that protrudes or creates an obvious bulge. Gibbous moons are the waxing and waning phases where the moon is more than half illuminated. When there is a gibbous or full moon, the sky is so lit up by the moonlight that it is harder to see the stars.

July 28th

The bright glow makes a walk in the night possible without a flashlight or headlamp—we become like nocturnal animals—we can ‘see’ in the dark. But my favorite thing about those radiant nights is the moon shadows, especially of the bare trees on snow during the winter.

Oh, I’m being followed by a moon shadow, moon shadow, moon shadow, Leapin’ and hoppin’ on a moon shadow, moon shadow, moon shadow….Did it take long to find me? I asked the faithful light. Did it take long to find me? And are you gonna stay the night? — Cat Stevens

July 29th
July 30th
July 31st
August 1st

Failures are big and bright in my head—and not in a good way. They garner my attention, hold my chin, and tell me not to look away, even as I try to avert my eyes in shame.

But something has been happening with my bread crumbs (and loaves) of failure. I have been going back on that long trail of moon shadows and picking up my failure crumbs one by one—I look at them carefully and lovingly. Who was I when this happened? What were the circumstances surrounding me? Were there people around who understood the impact on me? Were they able to help me process what happened? That time I tried out for the chorus at school and didn’t make it? Humiliating and disappointing. But look, I went on to lead songs every day at church camp for three summers. I like to sing! I put that crumb in my backpack, and I now carry it with me. Each failure that blinded me with its big-ness is now in my bulging backpack—behind me, tamped down, lovingly contained. It is a part of me now. I am able to see more things and even appreciate how the brightness of those failures add to the picture of who I am. The faithful light took a long time to find me—or rather, it took me a long time to find it.

Every once in a while, my backpack spills open, and my failures morph into their previous monstrous selves, overwhelming me to tears and inaction. A reminder of where I’ve come from, yet a reminder of what I have over-come. Humbling and confirming all at the same time. I can swiftly and easily pack those crumbs back into my backpack and continue my journey. Looking up, I can see the stars more clearly now. I see the Big Dipper. The outer two stars of the bowl of the Big Dipper point to Polaris—the North Star—the tip of the handle of the even dimmer Little Dipper constellation. I adjust my gibbous backpack, turn towards my true north, and sing out as I walk on…”Oh, I’m being followed by a moon shadow, moon shadow, moon shadow…”

Gleanings from January—Moon Shadows on Snow

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I’m being followed by a moon shadow, moon shadow, moon shadow.  –Cat Stevens

January rings in another year with Auld Lang Syne—‘for old times’ sake’—by looking back at what happened during the previous year.  And then we begin again.  Each month and each day gives us that same opportunity.  At the end of each day, we can look back at what happened, check in with ourselves, set our intentions for the next day, and with the dawn, begin again.

We had days of beautiful snow last month—perfect January weather.  In the midst of a snowstorm, the bright cardinal gave us a glimpse of the joyous, colorful Spring to come.

There is Beauty in Wintertide when ordinary objects become works of art.

We also had days of unusual melting in January as the temperatures soared and bleakness enveloped the land.

One of the lovely sights of winter nights is moon shadows on snow—a wordless poem that stirs the soul with its artistry and mystery.

Another mystery unfurled in the daytime snow—this ‘snow roll’ and track appeared one afternoon, starting at the down spout and rolling 10-12 feet across relatively flat ground.  Now how did that happen?!

This snow-covered nest caught my eye, and I thought of how their carefully crafted and hidden home during the leaf-covered spring and summer was now exposed to the elements and for all to see.

Another month, another day is relegated to ‘old times.’

 

Old years, months, and days become our history—a story that covers the gamut from bleakness to beauty, from ordinary to art, from predictable to mystery.  With our history comes our lessons, but only if we reflect on what happened, what our role was, and how we may have gotten some parts of it wrong.  There are times in which we hide ourselves for protection and for good reason, but eventually, as we begin again, we are once more exposed to the elements.  And here’s the mystery—we become stronger and more resilient for having done that shadow work in the darkness.  Our lives become a wordless poem of artistry and mystery.  We’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet for old times’ sake, revel in the Goodness of the present moment, and catch a glimpse of the Joy yet to come.