st. patrick's thoughts

Dear Ones,

Several years ago I traveled to Ireland with my family. It was time well spent on long country drives, admiring surviving pieces of rich history, in colorful seaside towns, and cozy pubs. With heaping plates of fish and chips, shepherd's pie, cold glasses of Smithwick's with a Guinness top, and crisp pints of cider never too far from reach. What I wouldn't give to be feasting on these treats again, now. 

As part of our adventures, we had the privilege of a semi-private tour on an old Irish dairy farm, inhabited and cared for by the same lineage for centuries. Our host, named Paddy, of course, was a gentle soul of a grandfather. We strolled the property in our wellies and rain jackets as he shared stories of his family history, welcoming us into both his current home for tea with biscuits, as well as a stop in the original master house still kept on the land: the place where he was born, as well as his mother, his grandmother, and many more babes before them. Our group of about 40 eager visitors squeezed politely into the tiny space. Paddy took to an old stool, settling in with a sigh and a matching creak of its wood to his bones, then began to recite a classic Irish poem by Mona Tierney from memory. Not a sound was uttered by the intimate crowd. We were captivated by his cadence, the way his truly sparkling blue eyes lifted and dropped in rhythm with the words. His beautiful accent sealed the deal for our delight in this man.

O’ What is it all when all is told
This ceaseless toiling for fame and gold
The fleeting joy of bitter tears
We’re only here for a few short years
Nothing’s our own save the silent past
Loving or hating-no thing can last
Each pathway leads to a silent fold
O’ what is it all when all is told

What is it all a grassy mound
Where day or night there is never a sound
Save the soft low moan of the fanning breeze
As it lovingly rustles the silent trees.
Or a thoughtful friend with whispered prayer
May sometimes break the stillness there
Then hurry away from the gloom and the cold
O’ what is it all when all is told

What is it all just passing true
A cross for me and a cross for you
Ours seems heavy while others seem light
But God in the end makes all things right
He tempts the mind with loving care
He knows the burden that each can bear
Then turns life’s grey into loving gold
O’ what is it all when all is told.


I had originally planned to end this brief writing exercise with just those words. But a college friend shared a favorite family proverb from her dad, a true Irishman, today on her on Instagram that inspired me to expand with a final thought. Her quote: “It is in the shelter of each other that people live” (thank you, @noracanz ,for this lovely bit of food for thought). 

When all is told of this life, I hope it is a story rich with investment in kinship. Connection. Shelter shared; safe space for self and others to dwell. When I think about my life thus far, the highlights - the moments of real, fulfilling, deep living, whether joyful or painful or somewhere in between - have always been blessed by the physical, emotional, or spiritual shelter of others. Living means loving, hoping, suffering, adventuring. Living means growing and healing, forgiving and serving. Living is hard. Full stop. Yet it is made easier, worthwhile, even, by a thoughtful friend with a whispered prayer. Let us choose to shelter each other, so that we all may fully live. 

Grace & Peace,

​Trish​