Let It Move You

I hear it driving down the street,  pull into a parking lot, turn the volume knob to the right. Listening to the lyrics, I let them sink in deep, massage the uncertainty and fear over all the trouble in the world, all the unknown that I can't fix. My fingers, they drum the steering wheel, I lean into the beat of the message. And my thoughts, they drift like swirling snowflakes, back to my beloved neighbor, she who passed away in 2011. How my heart ached sad with the missing. How the priest stood in front of the mourners at her service holding a plastic bottle of liquid detergent, a knowing smile spread across his face as he spoke about my dear friend.

Joy. She had Joy. She was Joy.


What would she would say about the news, all the chaos and division in the country, all those children and oh, those dreaded weapons? And I see a smile washing over her face, trust sparks causing a glow across her countenance, a chuckle that would make your shoulders drop an inch or two, just because. She loved Jesus and Mary authentically, loved others on purpose, not just on Sundays. I think God quite clever to send her to earth on the fourth of July, what with all those celebrations and blazing light shows.

I download the tune at home, wonder what kind of music they play in Heaven. And I play it again and again, drowning out the buzzing noise of fear, letting joy steal the joy, letting it move me inch by inch closer to God.

"Find out where joy resides, and give it a voice far beyond singing, for to miss the joy, is to miss all."

~Robert Louis Stevenson~

Dear Younger Me

I love the ocean. The soothing sound of the rolling waves, how they still the tired soul, the various seashells resting on the shoreline, waiting to be inspected, tucked into a coat pocket, seagulls telling us how it really is. And the left-over granules of sand that follow you home, how they sift out of the shoe at unsuspecting moments, dust the floor, the carpet with tender memories. In my teen years, we lazed on a beach blanket for hours at a time, Baby Oil slathered all over our innocent bodies, flipping through a Seventeen magazine, gazing at Twiggy, at her hair-do, at the body we sighed over but now we'd rather wear elastic waistbands. The salty breeze fanned our sun-burned young bodies, unaware we were then of the importance of sunscreen. If the soul was on our minds at all, we thought it was on the bottom of our Capezio flats.

As the body ages limitations can at times set you on the sidelines, a humbled spectator, a grateful cheerleader. Possibly dabbing a bit of sunscreen on the face. It's during those moments that the teenager inside longs to be part of the action, screams at the injustice of the pain, but the older, wiser part understands that the soul can be fed holy peace in the stillness, in the quietude of the unrepeatable moments. It's in the brokenness, the pain and sorrow, the interruptions and uncertainties that He does His best work. So you lean a bit further into Grace, breathe deep, grateful breaths, wear comfortable clothes, steal every bit of joy you can, and then steal some more. This then, is blessed manna for the soul.

"The Past is frozen and no longer flows, and the Present is all lit up with eternal rays."

~C.S. Lewis~