Contents Prologue vii

chapter1 NoPalmsinMyPurse 1

chapter2 MardiGrasandOtherPortalsintoMystery 15

chapter3 OfSwallowtailsinParticular 29

chapter4 WatchingandWaiting 41

chapter5 FinalSanity 47

chapter6 OnJustSuchaMorning 53

chapter7 TheBleedingBirds 57

chapter8 RunawaySon 67

chapter9 GardenMyths 83

chapter10 FatherandSon 93

chapter11 ThroughtheVeilTorn 101

chapter12 PatronSaintsandaStoryofGrief 105

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chapter13 DanceoftheFireflies 111

chapter14 AscensionDay 117

Epilogue 125

�i Contents

Itwasa longtimeago,andhalfa lifetimeofexperi-ence. In early May, Nora had gotten married. Our

oldest,shewasthefirstofthechildrentoleaveusand,accordingtoherfather,fartooyoungtohaveanynotionofwhatshewasabout.Beingquiteoldenoughtoknowexactlywhatshewasabout,shehadceasedtoarguethepointwithhimandhadproceeded,withallduerespectanddecorum,togetherselfmarriedanyway.

By late June, and with the wedding bills all paid atlast,Samwasstilldisconsolateandoutofsortsbecauseoftheholeinhislife.Idecideditwastimetodosome-thing—anything—toshakeupourroutineandinterrupt

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chapter 1

No Palms in My Purse

theapparently interminableperiodofpaternalmourn-ing.Avacationseemedinorder.

ItisafairmeasureofmyconcernthatIevenmen-tioned such a thing. Rebecca, our seventh and lastacquisition,wasnotquite two, and theother five stillwithuswerescattered,atvariouslevelsofthehuman-izingprocess,betweenherandtheirnow-missingsister.AndIhatedfamilyvacations!

At that time in our lives and for obvious reasons,weownedone—actuallywehadownedandwornouta couple—of those huge overland Travelalls thatInternationalHarvesterusedtomakeforfolkswithourkind of problem. This particular Travelall, however,was still fairly new, and it was certainly still roadwor-thy.Granny,wholivedwithus,couldnolongersustainthe two days of hard driving that lay between us andFlorida’sAtlanticcoast,butIcouldtakeherandRebeccadownbyplane.Samcouldtaketheotherfivechildrenwithhimbycar,andwewouldmeetinOrlando.

The sea had always—in the days before children—revived Sam and me. Surely it would do so again.Beginning the trip atDisneyWorldwould set just therighttoneofexcitementandadventureforthechildrenandwouldmakethemwearyenoughtoenjoythesimpler

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lifeofsunningandswimming,whichSamandIwanted.AtleastthatwasthetheoryasIproposedittoSam.

Physicians—my physician husband anyway—don’ttake many vacations. They may leave town for thoseseminarsandmeetingsthatarenecessarytokeepthemabreast of developments in their field, but neitherSam nor either of his partners was ever enthusiasticabout being gone for very long. It was a measure ofSam’sdoldrums,therefore,thatheevenlistenedtomyproposition.Buthedid.Andonce the ideahadbeenstatedoutloud,likeanevilweeditnotonlygrewbutrefusedtodie.

For one thing, in a house with six children and agrandmother, even words shared in the dark of mid-night behind the closed doors of the upper bedroomare heard. They are whispered through the walls andinto the hours of the early morning. By noontimetheyaredisseminated,andbytwilighttheyarefact.Itwas sowithour vacation.At supper theeveningafterIhadmentioned the idea toSam,Grannywas tellinghimthattwoweeksinFloridawasexactlywhatweallneeded. He looked accusingly down the table at me,and truly innocent of the charges, I simply shrugged.Heshruggedback.Weweregoingonvacation.

No Palms in My Purse �

It took three weeks to arrange the excruciatingdetails of how Sam would leave behind the hospitaland his patients. Who would cover which night washardenoughtoestablish;thelonghoursofconsulta-tion over patient charts, worrying about who mightpossiblyget indistresswere impossible.Listening toitall,Irememberedwhywenevertookvacationsany-more,anditwasn’t justhavingallthosechildrenandagrandmother!

Finally,havingmanagedtoarriveatthehottestpartofJuly,wealsoarrivedattheappointedtimeforleav-ing.SamwastopulloutonSaturdaymorningwiththeTravelall,ourgear,andthekids,ifhecouldgetthemin.Granny,Rebecca,andIwouldfollowonSundayafter-noon.Itwas,therefore,lateFridayafternoonwhenSamdiscoveredthat,ifhegotthesuitcases,cameras,makeupkits, potty-chairs, floats, books, and coolers into theTravelall,he,infact,reallycouldn’tgetthekidsin.

HemadeahastytriptoSearsjustatsupperandspentfiftydesperationdollarstobuywhatSearscalled,ratherinelegantly,a“clamshell.”Thecontrivancewashinged,tracked to sit on top of the luggage racks of big sta-tionwagons,anddesignedtoholdeverythingyoueverwantedwithroomleftover forwhatyoucouldnever,everhaveneedof.

� No Palms in My Purse

WhatSearsdidn’ttellyou,ofcourse,wasthatonceyou got the thing in place, got it stuffed, and lashedit down, you couldn’t open it again until you got towhereyouweregoing—not,thatis,unlessyouwantedtounlash,unpack,andunloadthewholethingalloveragain. Since this rather obvious point had not beenimmediately apparent to us, Sam did have to unlash,unpack,andunloadjustbeforeteno’clockthatFridaynight. He showed, I must say, a remarkably negativeattitudeaboutthewholethingatthetime.

Bysixo’clockSaturdaymorning,however,afterfivehoursofmutteringsleep—hemutteredandslept;Ilaybesidehimandlistened—hewasreadytopulloutwithhispartofourménage.Hehadallof thekids exceptRebecca,oratleasthesaidhedid.Icouldn’tseeanyofthemthroughthewindowsbecauseofallthefloatsandmakeupkitsandpillowshehadhadtoretrievethenightbefore.ButatthatpointIwaswillingtotakehiswordforeverything,andhewas innomood tobecrossed.Sohepulledout,leavingmethirty-sixhoursinwhichtopreparemy soul for theordeal ahead—girdupmyloins,sotospeak—andtorepairthedamageDaddyandcompanyhadleftbehind.

Atnotquitetwo,Rebeccastillhadaviciouscaseofthatperfectlynormalmalady—thefavorite-blanketsyndrome.

No Palms in My Purse �

Wisd om in

the Wait ingSpring’s Sacred Days

p h y l l i s t i c k l e

Wisd

om

in the Wa

iting

Spring’ s Sacred Days

Tic

kl

e

S t o r i e s f r o m T h e F a r m I n L u c y

christianity/inspiration

Spring’s Sacred Days

The spring comes so quietly in the country—so without

announcement—that I walk into it morning after morning

without knowing until abruptly, on some perfectly ordinary day, I

think, It’s warm! and realize that I have already been jacketless and

easy in my kingdom for several such mornings. Faith is a bit like that,

I suspect, quiet and without announcement till it, too, seeps into our

clothing and our decisions and only at the last into our consciousness,

till it, too, cuts us loose from chores and clothes and the awkwardness

of ice underfoot. —from Wisdom in the Waiting

“In these luminous stories . . . Phyllis Tickle offers us the sacred dailyness of life—husband, farm, children, a rooster, a

woodpecker, the placid cows. Each tale provides a point of entry into the mysteries of Lent, Easter, Eucharist, Love.”

—Sophy Burnham, author of The Treasure of Montségur, A Book of Angels, and The Path of Prayer

“Phyllis brilliantly and sensitively weaves liturgical feasts and moods through the life of her family on the farm. This book . . . will open the door to a whole new world of joy and celebration of the important events in the life of every Christian.”

—Fr. Joseph F. Girzone, author, Joshua

phyllis tickle has been covering

religion for Publishers

Weekly for more than

a decade. As one of

the most respected

authorities on religion

in America today, she’s often featured on

NPR, the Hallmark Channel, CNN, and the

BBC, and is a frequent contributor to PBS’s

Religion & Ethics Newsweekly. She is the

author of the acclaimed multivolume series,

The Divine Hours, and the award-winning

memoir The Shaping of a Life. She has

been married for forty-eight years to her

physician husband, Sam. They have seven

children, twelve grandchildren, and nine

great-grandchildren, and make their home

on The Farm In Lucy, Tennessee.

Cover photo: © Gary W. Carter/Corbis

Jacket design: Megan Duffy Rostan

Wisdom in

the Waiting

O ur middle years can be viewed

as a sacred passage—a bridge

between the early formation of our lives

and our maturing. For Phyllis Tickle,

this bridge and time of growth are much

more a land and a place than a series of

changing events and circumstances.

The land is The Farm in Lucy, twenty

acres of working farm in rural West

Tennessee where Tickle and her husband

Sam raised seven children. A place of great

beauty and fertility, it richly rewarded the

labors of the Tickle family. Season after

season, The Farm grounded their lives

and cloaked them with grace, revealing

the goodness of God’s creation.

Wisdom in the Waiting is the second

in a series about The Farm In Lucy.

These lyrical tales celebrate the sacred

moments and luminous beauty that

burst forth each spring. From butterflies

in the bathroom to palm fronds, family

vacations, and “bleeding” birds, Tickle

inspires us to see the wisdom that has

been waiting for us all along.

$14.95