Smoking a Pipe

I did a strange thing this evening. I smoked my father’s pipe.

The pipe originally came into my possession back in October: I had briefly considered dressing up as Popeye for Halloween, and Dad had offered me one of his pipes as a prop for my costume. When I went home for Christmas, I had returned the unused prop. But instead of taking it back, he told me to keep it, then disappeared briefly into his office to come back with a small leather carrying pouch for the pipe: “Here are some pipe cleaners, and a bit of tobacco that you and Steph gave to me one time. Before you use it, take a wedge of apple, just a small piece, and seal it in the plastic bag of the tobacco. That’ll moisten it up.” Dad made no big deal about our exchange. But implicit in his statements was the assumption that, despite never having expressed the desire to do so, I might want to smoke the pipe some day.

I have so many memories connected to that pipe. As a child, Dad and I would run errands together on Saturday afternoons, walking from our apartment down the Hernalser Hauptstrasse to the Shopping Center. He’d hold my hand, squeezing it ever so often, and with his other take his pipe from his mouth to breathe smoke into the air. I loved the scent! Even now when I smell someone’s pipe, I instantly recall camping trips, fishing excursions, walks through the woods. Or the first time I smoked Dad’s pipe:

We were on a family trip to England, camping somewhere in the Lake District, and Dad had taken out his pipe and was blowing smoke through his nostrils. We three children were fascinated, and my brother wanted desperately to imitate my father. But try as he might, he couldn’t get the smoke to blow out of just his nose. I nonchalantly told Bart that I could do it, popped the pipe in my mouth, and within seconds had thin streams of smoke tendrilling out of my nose and into the evening air.

So why did I smoke the pipe today? I think I’ve been more home sick than usual lately. I miss my family. Dad had called twice within the past week, once on Valentine’s, and once on Saturday, just to tell me he wished I could be with them (Stephanie had come up from Raleigh over the weekend to be with the family. On Saturday she, Dad and Mom babysat Audrey so my brother and his wife could have a night out).

And this evening was perfect pipe-smoking weather. Clear skies, the setting sun, the brisk cold. So when I got home today, I took out the pipe, filled it as best I could, tamped down the tobacco, and took a match, lighting the pipe. Holding the smooth wooden bowl between my fingers, and tasting the musky tobacco, I felt a little closer to home, my family a little more tangible. Dad knows me well, and I wonder if this is what he had in mind in the first place when he gave the pipe to me.

And then I started to think about Jesus. I’ve always loved the story about how young Jesus disappears at Passover, and his parents go searching for him for three days to finally find him in the temple at Jerusalem. He tells his worried mom “Why did you seek Me? Did you not know that I must be about My Father’s business?” (Luke 2:49). As I thought about that story, I wondered if Jesus was just homesick, wanting to be someplace which reminded him of Home, wanting to be with his Dad, wanting to talk about His Dad. And that thought somehow encouraged me, made me feel okay to rest in the missing, the longing, and to soak up the comfort in the lingering scent of my dad’s pipe.

Snowdrop

Das Schneeglöckchen / Snowdrop

unexpected, there, between the dry mulch.
i almost missed it, hurrying by.
i turned back.
and bent,
to touch the delicate head.

how can something so slight
push without breaking,
bend the cold earth without taking,
injury?

because the message it brings,
now,
in the february death of winter,
carries the hope we need to hear:

take heart,
the Life of spring comes!

I have said all these things to you so that in me you may have peace. In the world you have trouble: but take heart! I have overcome the world.
John 16:33, BBE

Visiting Paris

One of my favourite cities in the world is Paris. In 1989 my family and I were there for the bicentennial of the Revolution. At 20 I went back with my sister during our semester abroad in France. A couple summers ago one of my best friends Lucy and I "did Paris" in less than six hours coming back from our Benedicte's wedding in Limoges. My mom sent me this incredible link -- a panoramic shot of Paris by night. I invite you to visit Paris for a minute, to remember your own visit, or dream of the day when you will ...

When the picture loads, move your cursor over the bottom scroll bar to change the view around Paris.

http://framboise781.free.fr/Paris.htm