Heaven Come Down

I click off Facebook. Sadness washes over me. A gun and nine people, the world cries out on social media, the news, the living room. Our hearts break and mourn over one more crime, one more senseless act, another gun pointed in all the wrong directions.

Will it ever change? Can we ever go back? Are we safe now under cover of all this crazy need to be free to carry a gun like a favorite purse, a trophy of right?

Our grandson fills his mammoth squirt gun the other day, I cringe. It's OK, Grandma he says, I won't point it at anybody. I sigh relief. He and brother take turns putting out pretend fires on the plastic play structure and I breathe a bit more easy. I study their efforts and watch as the fake fire is contained, at least for the moment.

Have we gone ahead of ourselves? Can we ever return to simple, to The  Donna Reed Show, Father Know's Best? Can the children see our sadness, our disbelief? Aren't we all the same color under our skin?

I gaze out at potted flowers, the bone white impatiens and pale blue lobelia. A green finch perches on the water feature basin. Our home is a haven, our church, a sanctuary for worship and how did this happen that a gun is aimed for destruction, this freedom of rights gone wrong. I think about birthday gifts all wrapped in surprise, about guns purchased to celebrate number twenty-one and how can this be? I think about kids hunched over homework and families eating together, at the table. Talking and sharing about life, about wins and losses, hopes and dreams, teachers and friends, love and acceptance.

It's Father's Day and I wonder how his father is feeling and does he know that freedom to purchase can also be freedom to destroy? It's Father's Day and I scan the cloudy sky, searching for hope.

Is that a tear I feel in this upturned palm of mine? Do you weep for your world gone mad? Have mercy, Oh God, we need you. Heaven come down, shine your precious light on those gone astray. Lead us out of the desert, into the open palm of your loving hand.

Hope For A New Normal

I turned the nozzle on the garden hose, adjusted the setting, sprayed cool water, showering my lavender plant with liquid mana. After a week of heat, blazing sun and air conditioner usage causing intermittent power outages, watering the garden felt  luxurious. I started to move on to the hydrangea, yanked on the hose and that is when I spotted it. Almost hidden amongst those green stems, purple flowers and hovering bees. Forgetting I had placed it there, I studied the missive, wondered at how often I had turned my back on this visual, this virtual reminder that I am not the one in charge.

That when grandson's fever spiked high day after day and daughter slept in short shifts; when doctor scratched his head and Grandma wrung her hands, worry thoughts roaming free like tiny bandits on the loose. Prayers fired off to heaven above, flaming arrows of hope, and in the end with his help, it's always going to be OK.

That when beloved dog passes out, right in front of husband's alarmed eyes,and his furry body stills for two minutes, breathing naked air, yet he wakes and shakes it all off like a bath in the salty sea. Always, always, it will be all right.

That when the vet says this is serious, I watched him listening intently with that stethoscope pressed against dog's side, and he moves it around, I forgot to breathe. The diagnosis he gave, it caused alarm and new medicine and instructions gave voice to the true age of our precious animal. "He will most likely have a new normal," the vet predicted. And I wondered all week, what is normal? Is this fear of mine normal?When I forget to bend the knee, take the crisis and mold it into my own trembling hands, is that normal?  Or casting my eyes any where but on the One who knows it all anyway? 

I don't know how much longer our dog will live, days, months or years. If my grandson takes ill or the heat blasts through the city, I pray for restful breaths, trusting, seeking eyes. And if I forget to release, and the mind spins crazy wild I know the One holds it all anyway, he has it all under control, even when I forget. And maybe just maybe, with practice and abundant grace, I will awake one beautiful morning, stretch out these aging arms, whisper to the invisible with awestruck wonder, thank you for helping me wake up to this liberating new Normal. 

Far be it to me to not believe, even when my eyes can't see

And this mountain that's  in front of me
Will be thrown into the midst of the sea