Judy

Warmth hovers over the table, mixing with the steaming coffee and the rich pie. Peace rests there. Joy is re-discovered there. Love is the undercurrent. And the overcurrent. A bond is renewed and experiences are shared. The richness of the conversation exceeding the richness of the pie. The soothing from the re-connecting outweighs that of the steaming drink. Pie and coffee and beautiful life.

away

Being away has a way of strengthening thankfulness. Of magnifying moments of cherishment, opening eyes to see beauty that once lay hidden under a blanket of the mundane. The ability to look something and not see it the same, but in a deeper and more enhanced way, one that results from being away. Stepping away, stepping out, then returning and seeing a bit more of what life’s about. You’re different. They’re different. And at times that is a challenge because what was once familiar and comfortable has shifted into something partly new, something you once knew is now different. But it’s okay. That’s life. That’s the way things go. Nothing will truly stay the same in every way. So step away, appreciate, and rest in the fact that it’s all okay.

Fight

A beginning of innocence, yet filled with an unrecognizable pain, that of a father’s battle with death, and the life death gained. A beginning where, already, things were hard. A fight of innocence against harsh realities, childhood fought hard, swinging with all his might, but disillusionment threw a hard punch and pain put him in a chokehold, squeezing the optimism and desire for good out of him.

From then on, the grip of pain grew, the awareness of a broken world grew, too, and to fit into a broken world and cope with the pain that pursued, it started small. First laxatives in the punch at the birthday. Then the small children’s snowball began rolling down the slope of life, growing with every moment, gaining momentum until it brought you to a breaking point. Prison. Messing with your brain. But you paid your time and you came out again, and this time on top. This time pain and darkness couldn’t blot out your fire. They perspired at the mere sight of your changed life. Protected by the muscles of hope and redemption, surrounded by the perseverance of truth and salvation.

But then it happened again. I don’t know if it was because you got distracted in the ring. Or if you were teamed up on, coaxed into the arms of pain where his strength could begin to squeeze the life out of you again. And he almost did. Dear, Dear Cousin, he almost did. His friends, darkness and cold, came to kick you while you were down, and they knocked the wind out of you. All of it. To the point that you couldn’t live without the support of a machine.

And now, a month later, you can be seen up and moving, living the life that almost left you. Breathing the life that was once stolen from you. Embodying the life that was almost taken from you. And for that I rejoice.

Noah.

When I close my eyes, the music comes alive, dancing through the air and into my ears with a life-filled rawness that draws my heart out. His realness caresses the hurts and the emotions, exposing them and allowing them to breathe, to be acknowledged as real. Maybe this is the beginning of how they may heal.

This man’s soul speak speaks to the shy soul of even the strongest man. He lays himself bare, both the joys and the fears he faces and allows those words to slide out and into a song. They glide so smoothly, so softly, so movingly that I can’t help but feel. I can’t help but look out and see that we are all human. We are all hurting. That we are all living a life that can’t be called completely care-free or always happy.

The tone of his voice, the emotions that saturate his words, along with the rawness that drips from his lips as this powerful melody flows, it covers me and unlocks a part of me I hadn’t even seen before, setting free the bird that had forgotten to soar due to clipped wings.

He speaks not of make-believe or fantasy, but his stories are real, joyful, painful even, revealing the depths of his soul. And this revealing elicits a response from even the most unresponsive. There’s no escaping the music. There’s no avoiding the confrontation you must face, and facing yourself is the scariest thing.

I hear his emotions, I hear him tell the story as if we were there, I hear him reliving those moments, both good and bad, and the heaviness that at times results.

The Help

The great injustice that is our history. The deep current of pain that characterizes our past.  The way we categorize and judge and write off as worthless because of color. Because of country. Because of background. Watching it makes me want to scream, to break something, to make it right. But then I have to stop and think. If I were raised in that time, with that mindset, would I be any different? I pray to God that I would be. That I would stand against the wrongs in plain sight. I would side with what’s right. But I don’t know. I can’t say if I would be the same. I can’t say if I would rise above that shame.

re-member

The opposite of remember isn’t forget. It’s dismember.  What a beautiful thought. Communion. The gathering of the body. The re-memberment of the body. The bringing of the body back together. When we cease to remember Christ, we break the body apart. It’s a communal event. Bringing the body back together. And that’s a beautiful thing.