Reba Makes a Friend

Reba Swan grew up on a pond near a farm. Reba’s mom, a teacher, was considered the best in the region and received several teaching awards. Her dad was a highly sought-after flight instructor. Reba considered herself lucky to have talented, hard-working parents. She loved them very much.

Reba was an excellent student. Once she learned how to be a swan, her parents went back to work. Reba took care of herself during the day. She was brave and curious about most things. She’d spend her free time flying to nearby places, searching for something or someone new to discover. When she wasn’t flying, Reba would be in one of two places: either daydreaming beneath two giant weeping willow trees at one end of the pond or up by the farm. It was in the opposite direction, just beyond a little green hill. Nearly every day, right after lunch, Reba would climb the little hill and look out over the farm. There was a red barn and two fenced-off areas. One fenced area had more land in the middle of it than the other. On the other side of the barn was a blue house with a light pink door. It looked like a wonderful place to live, though Reba never saw any humans, or animals, living there. Whenever she’d rest under those weeping willows, she’d daydream about having a best friend. Sure, she’d met plenty of other swans, birds, ducks, squirrels, and mice, but everyone seemed to already have a best friend. Not willing to let this get her down, Reba continued to wish for a miracle.

Then, on a beautifully ordinary day, everything changed. She’d finished a lunch of pondweeds and was ready for a flyover. With the wind tickling her feathers, she looped around the pond and headed toward the farmland. Something in the distance caught her eye. For a moment, she forgot to flap her wings and begin to sink. She yelped and began flying again. But, there on the empty farmland, were animals, and humans! Reba couldn’t believe it and whistled in delight. She turned around and decided to land back at the pond. Her excitement grew so strong she started to dance as she waddled. Wanting to get a closer look, she danced up the little hill toward the farm. There was a big green truck with a large trailer and one car parked in the driveway. As she got closer, there was a brand new sign on the fence that read THE GILBERT FARM.

Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and wished, please let my best friend be at The Gilbert Farm. Then, Reba bravely waddled into the fenced area, closer to the barn. Horses and cows were grazing in the larger pasture area. Moving closer to the house, she counted one-two-three-four humans carrying boxes from the car. No one had asked her to leave yet. In fact, no one had seemed to notice the swan. She decided to move closer to the barn. There were chickens clucking in the smaller fenced in area along with a large pig who was pink with black spots. The pig was looking right at her, “Hello!”

Reba looked to her left and right. “Yes, I’m talking to you!,” the pig replied. “Oh! Hello Pig, I’m Reba and it’s very nice to meet you. What’s your name?”
”I’m Shania. It’s nice to meet you Reba. Are you a neighbor?”
”Yes, yes I am — I live just down the hill on a pond with my parents.”
”Well, that sounds very nice. As i’m sure you noticed, we have just getting situated here. It’s a good group; certainly lots of personalities but we do try and look out for one another.” Reba’s joy was overflowing. She wasn’t sure she’d ever felt this much excitement, or hope, before. “I’d love to meet everyone, eventually,” she said.

“That would be wonderful,” said Shania, “but maybe in a day or two. We are all adjusting a bit to the new place and needing some rest. But maybe tomorrow, you could pop back over and I could introduce you. Knowing a friend is nearby is very comforting.”

Friend. The word held so much meaning for Reba. “I’m looking forward to it, Shania; and to being your friend. You’ve made my day!,” Reba exclaimed. “I feel the same, Reba.” They said goodbye and Reba made her way back to the pond. A day which began like any other, and now, she had a new friend named Shania! What a world of possibility.

Over dinner, she listened to her parents share about their days and when it was her turn, she couldn’t help but beam with delight. She talked about the farm and about Shania. Her joy was contagious and her parents laughed and asked a lot of questions. As the day came to an end, Reba closed her eyes and fell asleep smiling.

The Head and the Heart

The head and the heart are the two voices I know best.

The head, no stranger to logic and practicality. She is a realist, with a booming voice that says, think louder than you feel. A scrappy, resilient, street-smart lady who’s equipped with confidence. I’d be lost, or worse, without her. But you must be wondering, what about the heart?

The heart is gentle, as sensitive as they come. Though pain, worry, and fear tear at her seams, love, joy, and hope mend her back together. She beats with laughter and sadness. But she is not weak. She is courageous, bolder than the fiercest contender. I’d be lost, or worse, without her.

So how do these two live when they are as different as they come. I’m glad you asked. The heart writes letters, as only the heart can, and sends them straight to the head. These letters hold imagination and wonder, empathy, and curiosity. The head opens each one, letting every feeling find its place. Over time, wisdom grows. The heart’s feelings begin to inform the logic. And then the head writes back. Her letters are filled with questions, grateful for the heart’s constant pursuit. The heart reads every word with thoughtfulness, letting the questions inform the emotion. The head is complex. The heart is dynamic. And when the obstacles creep in, eager to delay and confuse, the head and the heart remain steadfast pen pals. Neither survives without the other.

These are the voices I know best, and I’d be lost, or worse, without them.

Honey

As she began to write, a small drop of honey gently plopped onto the back of her hand. “What on earth?” she thought, putting down her pen to formally assess the situation. Now, logically, she knew she’d used honey in her coffee this morning. Could she have accidentally put honey in her hair? Perhaps. But who can interpret anything accurately before coffee? So either this honey drop managed its way into her messy head of curls or it had inexplicably fallen from above.

Honey was a bit like glitter—sparkly but hard to wipe away, making more of a mess than probably worth it. However, this single drop of honey felt like a little sparkle, a secret just for her.

Not having a napkin, there was only one thing left to do. “Goodbye little honey” she whispered as her finger scooped up the drop and placed it on her tongue. Back on track, she began writing: I have felt a bit outside of myself lately. I don’t feel rested and I can’t figure out why. I may be distracted to the point of putting honey in my hair. But, there is a small chance that a honey drop fell from somewhere else. She looked up at the ceiling. No sign of honey. Her lips slowly curved into a smile. She thought, “What if I just chose to believe that a tiny invisible fairy saw me struggling over feeling like a mess and decided that the only way to pull me out of my spiral was to drip a drop of honey onto my hand? And if that is to be true, then that very drip of honey had to drop from a tiny honey pot.”