The Good Guy Won

He opened a bright yellow plastic egg. The kind found in Easter baskets on the shelf in the holiday aisle, later hidden under a budding bush waiting for small hands to discover. This blond-haired grandson, he separated the egg and curiously, I peered inside, looking to find what captured this little boys attention and drove him to bring the carton of plastic eggs to our house for dinner night. A dialogue between two five-year-old boys ensued, and those voices, they wrapped around me like a silken shawl. I watched and listened, freeze-framing moments, imprinting a memory on my grandmotherly mind. My gaze fell upon a miniature crown of thorns held between grandson's fingers, I inhaled slow. Expecting speckled jelly beans, pastel foil-wrapped Hershey kisses, a few chocolate eggs or maybe a few coins. My ears pricked right sudden when our little grandson held this tiny thorn crown between his elfin fingers. "That made his head bleed." I swallowed. Another egg split open, a diminutive wooden cross he surveyed. "He died on a cross like this one, Grandma." He placed it back inside, snapped the egg closed. Another rattled. "These are nails. They hurt bad." I winced quick. "Jesus loves everyone," brown-haired boy said between bites of a cookie. The air around us softened, a wisp of grace settled in around our impromptu egg party.

The story continued and all the pent up anxiety and stress commanding my heart lately pooled onto the wooden floor, a reflection of this radical forgiveness, this amazing grace. Cradling those moments like a beloved photograph, resisting the urge to tell the story for them, I waited for their version, the kind that mixes it up a bit but the main ingredient still holds it all together. His story unfolded, innocently revealed, one plastic egg at a time.

Later in the week I bought my own multi-colored plastic eggs at a Dollar Tree. Readying to hide them for an early Easter hunt my thoughts spooled back to the story-tellers, two children chatting it up about the grandest of love. I plopped a yellow jelly bean inside a sky-blue egg with painted white bunnies and yellow swirls. Fastened it closed. A quarter dropped in another. Two organic fruit snacks in a daisy-colored hot-pink egg. All the while I thought about this tale that spins wild, a man on a cross, a thirst so grand, and a bleed no Band-Aid could contain. An empty tomb, the bad guy defeated, and two five-year-old boys setting it right all over again for that small child still living inside of you and me.

#All for love 

When Wings Span Wide

I follow the graceful flight of a green speckled hummingbird out our front window. How it glides to the glass feeder rimmed in red, short wings whirring, long slender bill diving in to take a drink. I pause for a moment,  watchful waiting for the flight movement, this delicate bird how it wings its way to its next stop, its next resting place. I wonder at the bird, why it captivates and delights us so, this creature that darts in and out of our sight, so quickly appearing and just as swiftly it disappears from view. Maybe this is why I love this particular species, this beautiful bird that catches me by surprise, grabs me for the moment, and I see this same delight on faces of friends, family. What is it about the moments that take our breath away, that halt speech and draw the eyes toward the unplanned, the unannounced.

When the mind is drawn toward the unexpected a transaction takes place; I no longer own the moment, the moment owns me.

What sound does it make I wonder, this sudden intake of breath, a racing thought stilled by radiance, a body shifting at once toward the right direction. What noise do they hear above and do they sing alleluia at the sight of one stopping still, pinning the ear toward a quiet whisper of a cherry blossom tree, tucking cell phone away in a pocket. A delighted breath of gratitude expelled into the graceful atmosphere. 

When I catch sight of this bird in flight, this hummingbird that sends a transient thrill down the spine does my joy ping heavenward?  Can he hear the moment before dropped quick and does he smile big as the present imprisons with its sheer beauty? When a knee hits the ground in awestruck gratitude, a bird takes flight and we follow the bird, our wings span wide and we fly too, if only for an instant. And the time itself captures and detains us, our joy is his joy, the moment is complete.

Every moment comes to you pregnant with a divine purpose; time being so precious that God deals it out only second by second. Once it leaves your hands and your power to do with it as you please, it plunges into eternity to remain forever what you made of it.

~Archbishop Fulton J. Sheen~