How To Rest In The Promise

I look outside and see the signs. A fresh wave of hope washes over me. I know, I believe. I trust that even in this, in seasons of terror and war, of gangs and guns and cybercrime we have a deeper hope, a promise to cling to. The vision, it's clearer than before, even when us kids ran free through city parks and gas prices hung low. Way low. I watch the birds shaking it out in the water bath, splashing drops of winter onto the deck. And I hear the voices of days long gone, of children calling out loud, playing hide-and-seek in the darkness, unafraid and free. How do I protect my grandchildren in school? At McDonald's? In the grocery store? I clutch the vision and carry it like a silken purse, hold it tight and wear it like one of those protective vests law enforcement don.

This is insanity, what I see on TV! Orange jumpsuits and hearts broken wide. Madness it is and pour down your Hope. Please.

The birds they sing gaily, not a care or worry, and He says to think about the birds and I do, but those worry lines make creases. And my brows furrow doubt, all knit together like twins working a hard puzzle. So, I aim my sight high, somewhere above Judy Garland's rainbow, the place that knows it all, gently wipes our sweat and tears, takes our shaking hands in His, even in this. The daffodils, they signal sweet sign of encouragement, glorious yellows splashing across landscapes, tulips patiently waiting their turn to delight. Delicious scent of Daphne wafts through the atmosphere and thoughts of evil and crime are rendered silent for one glorious moment. I will not give up! I will keep searching for the beautiful, for the gifts, and the daily news renders me speechless but the light is always stronger than the dark.

 

 

A friend once told me to never give up. To hang in there and keep looking up. To pray at all times and sing joy to the world.

He said to say thank you even when it's pitch black. A vision is worth everything when aimed high above, and He said to help others with their vision too. And when life gets tough, don't forget those birds of the air.

 

 Like those Laughing Gulls in North Carolina, they soar above it all, and I pitch my tent on the other side of worry, for a few moments at least, resting peacefully in the Promise.

Especially in this.

 

 



When Love Calls Your Name

It didn't happen over night, this enduring love since the year 1970. It started out as a confession, slipped casually from a classmate during a high school football game,"I think he likes you." This boy who played baseball and drove a bright red Volkswagen Beetle. At the ensuing dance inside the school, the beat of "American Woman" ricocheting off gymnasium walls, swishing my bell-bottoms, ushering us both onto the road map of our lives. Two teens, both student drivers. And when we sat together on a recent February evening, watching a television show I normally roll my eyes at, I developed a keener appreciation for the man who called out my name, searching the dance floor for a girl he "liked," oh those many years past.

In the television episode, the wife lamented over her husband's lack of compassion towards her, his lack of verbal or physical affection especially when she was injured, physically or emotionally. I snuck a glance at my husband who wore a guilty expression pasted on his face. I smiled wide. But it turned out the character and my husband have something in common, as later in the episode the wife learns her husband's love language speaks differently than hers, the same quantity of love, just dissimilar. Casting another look my husband's way, his knowing grin gaily announced the verdict. He fully comprehended the moral of this story. I was undone!

Love is always having to say your sorry, folding someones laundry even if your angry self would rather toss the clothes onto the wet driveway. Out into the inky dark night. It means putting the needs of others ahead of your own, even if your idea of a glorious day morphed into a day of shopping for make-up and hair products. At more than one store. It means working behind the scenes, humbly, tirelessly, living the mundane, the ordinary, flexing courage muscles, keeping your focus on the other.

"Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage." ~Lau Tzu~

 

And this is why I give thanks for the man who searched me out on a dance floor when I was sixteen. Who pretends not to notice my tears, but wipes them anyway, in his own loving way.

 

 

He bought me gifts in our teen-age years, simple yet bold, powerful proclamations, a forecast of  our lives together. He speaks a foreign love language, one that still needs translation at times. But like the husband and wife on television, love paints pretty when Grace gently, beautifully, leads you back out onto the dance floor. One merciful step at a time.