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Sunday, March 23, 2014

The Gardener

The first day of Spring, a promise it is, awakening the senses once again. Eager I am to fling open doors and windows, breathing it all in, letting all that beautiful enfold the body, like baby's soft blanket. This renewal, glorious blooming season, it sends ripples of pastel hope into winter weary bones.
 
 
 
Pausing to inhale wafting scent of Daphne, my mind spins backward to the house I grew up in. Smells trigger memories and I know when I catch that rich scent, my spirit revives, I am that young girl again and what better way to enter into the next season of life than this? To take that next step, boldly into the promise. Much like the daffodils, we rise with light, and light penetrates our roots, nourishes the soul and beauty multiplies. And as we step, stealing all the little joys we can, pointing each other towards flashes of light, our load lightens, each step a bit braver, each choice made a little easier. As Henri Nouwen wrote: "The reward of choosing joy, is joy itself." Cultivate joy, release that which no longer nourishes, watch as beauty expands.
 
 
Our bed of daffodils began as only a few. Through the years they multiplied, creating splashes of color, blissful tonic for sun-starved souls. And as spring blooms in promise, days stretch longer, casting out chilly gloom, I liken myself to the budding flowers all around.
 
The Gardener, he tenderly plants his seeds, waters and fertilizers the soil. He breathes life into the budding shoots. Then one day he sees a brilliant golden-yellow bloom atop an elongated verdant- green stem. He is greatly pleased. A few years later, he grins joy, he sings joy; he follows the multitude of glorious with eyes blazing white as the beautiful diffuses all that dark soil. He cries happy all over the flower bed.
 
By using my brave, by risking the unfurling, the garden will grow, one joyful choice at a time. It's a promise.
 
 
"Trust God where you cannot trace Him; Do not try to penetrate the cloud He brings over you, rather look to the bow that is on it. The mystery of God's promise is yours.
~John MacDuff~
 

Sunday, March 16, 2014

Love's Golden Promise

They say that the streets of Heaven are paved in gold. A magnificent sunrise steals our breath away, all tinged in golden hues. A wedding band, love's golden promise. Recently, I took a much needed rest from playing monster with twin boys and laid down on carpeted floor, begging off another round. Grandma needs to rest her achy back. Brown-haired boy laid down next to me, proceeded to play with my hair, fanning out carefully dyed strands, and I am all young again that girl who wore long pony-tails and the perfect flip. An elongated yawn and I broke the moment.
Grandma you have gold!
What are you talking about?
Open your mouth.
Oh, these are grandma's fillings that you see. My teeth needed protection.
You have gold! In your mouth! And he grinned.
Those two gold fillings I forgot, much like the Novocaine and dreaded drilling. I ponder those three words little boy uttered, they hang about my thoughts, creep into quiet time, a fluttering moth around burning light. If only I could see the gold inside, witness the glistening color, how beautiful it shines under bands of light. And I wonder at the overflowing joy grandson spoke into my heart, how believing in the gold, the steadfast truth of our human goodness and we all have shimmering gold inside. A miracle it is, this beauty that outshines all that looming darkness, the recriminations, faults and habits that stay strung on same clothesline. Through frozen winter. I cling to those three words, a blazing- orange life preserver vest clipped to shaky frame while taking those faltering steps, out onto the water, an anthem for the soul.
A few days ago, blond-haired boy made an amazing discovery.
Grandma you have gold!
I know and so do you. I breathed happy.
I don't have any gold like you.
Yes, you do. And it is very beautiful.
Maybe the miracle, it's not so much about discovering beauty within, but the courage it takes to share it. To spread all that grace, winging it to those He places along your path. To little boys who speak innocence, to a world that desperately needs to hear the truth. Joy, unspeakable joy.

I wish you all the joy that you can wish.
~William Shakespeare~