Why I Need A Superhero

I clap my hands several times, pause to see if he heard the call. He looks toward the street, I clap again. His head turns toward the sound this time, he angles his thin frame my way and pads slow, ever so slow, a sway mostly. And when he is in within reach I bend down, rub the bony crown of his head, look into those rheumy eyes, his face all gray, this fifteen-year-old beloved dog of ours. His fluffy tail wags happy.

One month ago we believed him near death and our sad heavied our steps throughout the house, the yard, at work. I lamented to friends, they listened and cared deep. On the advice of our neighbor we started feeding him hot dogs, anything to get him to eat. He lapped them up from our palms. My husband now cooks hamburger and rice, vegetables make nice color, and he serves up the feast on a Spider-Man three-slotted dinner plate. Our grandsons haven't stole the plate back, they love our dog big.

I think about our dog, Frazier and how we feared his imminent departure, how his sleepy frame and rapid weight loss drained our hope. And like those handmade paper airplanes winging it through the air, wobbly and often missing its mark, nosediving into a dark corner, we too lost our aim. But even though our hope grew dim and we etched out a game plan for our trip back east, He reached down, breathing fresh life into our beloved pet, if only for a time. I am all humbled once again, reminded of our true Superhero and the super-true fact that I am not in charge. I tuck that crystal ball back into the jet-black closet, close the door. I rinse off the Spider-Man plate, turn on the burner readying to make rice, and thank you I say,

for the precious time we have left.

The most important prayer in the world is just two words long: "Thank You."

~Meister Eckhart~

What To Do With Flashes Of Light

I watch the fall leaves transform into beautiful, the brilliant colors adorning the landscape, our backyard, the quaking country. I think about the tragic event in Roseburg and all the other senseless acts of violence and something churns inside. How can this be? How can it stop? It must stop! I don't have the answers so I fire them off, SOS missives for this madness to end, for peace, safety, and comfort for the grieving. Shaking off this burden like a small child laying down a heavy toy, simply too much to carry on your own, I garnered my thoughts and focused on Joy. Having just returned from vacation in Virginia, I set the mind on what matters, on life with family, on grandchildren tenderly shielded from the ugly, on story books, hot chocolate dates and pumpkins with smiley faces.

"I have to learn to "steal" all the real joy there is to steal and lift it up for others to see."

~Henri Nouwen~

Maybe the collective prayers will reach the tallest part of Heaven, the highest One who knows it all anyway. The help will come, we just don't know what it looks like yet. And like Henri Nouwen so wisely pens, "It means choosing for the light when there is much darkness to frighten me." Flashes of light they are, these "stolen" moments of joy, when the ordinary events of my life transfigure into extraordinary memories.

There is much in this world to frighten me, ripples of fear threatening the faltering footsteps. So like a reformed jewel thief on the loose, I look up and pray, Lead me to the light. But don't let me hold all that bright for myself. Point me to the needy, to whomever is on my path, shaking in all that hopeless dark.