King marveled. "But aren't your feet tired?" he asked.
"My feet is tired," she replied. "But my soul is rested."

My obligations stacked up this past week... or month.  I had too much to do, too many promises to keep, and too many places to travel.  I admit that it is my own fault. It's not that I forgot the word NO is in my vocabulary, I just figured I could get by without using it. (Perhaps you can relate?)

I gave in to a little self-pity (actually I milked it pretty good for an entire day). But it ends up as a kind of weight that makes you want to get in bed and pull the covers up over your head and listen to Patti Griffin sing, "sometimes I feel like I never been nothin' but tired."

There are times--it seems more frequent now--when we are not rested. We are tired, fatigued, weighed down, or just plain worn out.  Sometimes it is for good reason, sometimes it is not.  (Add to the mix the reality that we absorb or consume three times the amount of information--daily--than we did not that long ago.  We are, quite literally, bombarded.)     

Tired is one thing. Being "soulless" is something else altogether. Mother Pollard knew this.  I doubt she Googled it, or went to a workshop to figure it out.  Even so... this wasn't something to run from. Because she knew in her bones this reality; "Regardless of my circumstances, I am whole, and filled with grace and sufficiency."  

That'll preach.   

Which meant that for Mother Pollard, her rested soul allowed her to live fully into this life. (I read that the best beauty product is to actually have a life.)  She walked toward, and not away from, life.  This life, her life, which included the contradictions, frustrations, weariness, tired feet and injustices.  She was able to walk toward, because she had a rested soul. 

So the questions for every one of us are these...  

Where do we go to replenish the well? 
Where do we go to nourish the soul? 
Where do we go to be bathed in peace?

Here's the deal: Sometimes we don't have to go anywhere.  We just need to stop.  And pay attention.   

Did you see the movie Stand By Me?  The story of four adolescent friends--Gordie, Chris, Teddy and Vern--who set out on an adventure looking for the dead body of a local teenager.  It's a story about growing up, and a story about friendship.  There is a poignant scene when the boys are camping in the woods.  Gordie wakes early, just at dawn light, and finds himself face to face with a doe.  He stands still, watching and drinking in a sense of wonderment and awe... and peace.  Later in his life, he recounts the story, "The freight (train) woke up the other guys and it was on the tip of my tongue to tell them about the deer. But I didn't. That was the one thing I kept to myself. I've never spoken or written about it until just now."

Why did he keep it to himself?  I'm not sure, but I think I understand.  After all the challenging and draining things in the lives of Gordie and his friends--the death of his brother and the mistreatment from his parents; Teddy's abusive father; Ray Brower's death--perhaps the deer reminded him that some things in the world are still beautiful and life-bestowing, and can give us hope.

Let us repeat after Mother Pollard... "Regardless of my circumstances, I am whole, and filled with grace and sufficiency."   

It's been a full week. Three states and now the weekend here in Houston with a group of fun loving United Methodists (It's my philosophy that it never hurts to help out the Methodists); with a temperature not far above freezing. (Yes, here in southern Texas.) Meanwhile back home, on Vashon Island, cleanup awaits, my land and garden disheveled with debris from Tuesday night's arctic storm, ten trees down--including a couple Firs more than 80 years old--around the house, and resembling a game of giant pick-up sticks. I want to get home, fire up the chainsaw, and make things tidy again. I want to do the same thing with my life. But there are times when we need to find the courage and strength, even in the untidiness.   

I take heart in this today: Mother Pollard knew who she was. Her strength came from that place. Because she did not see herself as a victim, she could live with intention, beyond circumstance or public opinion. In other words, tired feet was not an impediment. And from that soul flows tenderness, tenacity, compassion, delight and passion. 

Today, Mother Pollard is my priest and poet.