The power of the impossible

Eyes widen with uncertainty as he comes out, hearts are afraid to beat for his sake. Predictions and prejudices are already being made. But he proves them wrong. He flips what’s expected on its head. As he moves gracefully, majestically about the room, his body pulsing with the music, his heart exposed through his movement, the thinking stops. Those watching look on in mild shock as they are overcome by the sheer beauty of this man. Of this man they would never admit they naturally thought little of. He glides across the ground, his strong arms catching her as she comes down. Their motions matching magnificently in an utterly moving way, bringing tears to the eyes of those who now know not what to say. His strength and grace now become what define him, his perfection of movement and power to leave in awe captures them. The dedication and perseverance this man must have embodied to get here is what opens the floodgates of tears as he touches a part of the soul many did not know they had. As this couple’s movements come to an end, there’s really nothing left to be said. This transforming, inspiring picture of beauty ends his dance, and looks on balancing strongly on his one leg.

That time

Christmas away from home. Away from those who know me and those I love. Away from the family and the traditions, away from the comfort of the familiar. This year I am in another nation, among another people, celebrating in another way. There is no tree setting up in the little alcove, no reminiscing over old ornaments, wondering which one would break in transit from the box to the tree this year. There’s no getting out all the snowmen, setting them up on nanas hutch and remembering when we made them. There’s no watching of Rudolph or frosty, no singing together near the tree, no snuggling with warm blankets watching one of mom’s dorky movies. There’s no pickle hidden around his house, no watching people open presents on nana’s orange couch. There’s no baking of a million cookies, and eating the measly chocolate chips for the stained glass goodies. There’s no wrapping gifts in newspaper, no making little things to offer at family Christmas.  There are no pickles, no olives, no dried fruit. No stockings, no waking up early to see all the loot. There’s no present under the tree on Christmas day, no relaxing feelings of being together to celebrate freedom and life. there’s no gifts from Obama or Mao, no long car trips to see other family in Ohio. There’s no hide and seek with cousins, hikes in the rain and extended family or football loving. There’s no endless amounts of food and gouda cheese, there’s no smelt, eel or octopus, or other weird things. There’s no sleeping on the floor at the aunts house, there’s stash to snack from as we go back to our house.

But let me tell you what there is. There is a new community. A new family of sorts. An eclectic one, for sure. There is a tree and some decorations around the living room. There have been a couple movies (not exactly Christmas ones, but movies nonetheless.) There has been food made and shared. There has been time together. There has been a mass shopping trip to the Sam’s Club type store here. There has been a gift exchange. And a dinner together of incredible deliciousness. There has been lots of cooking and cleaning and rearranging to invite people in. There has been time to laugh and talk. There have been guests to eat another diner with us. Our Chinese colleagues. There has been an exchange in the reminiscent memories of Christmas’ past. There has been singing together, reading together, p raying together. There has been planning together and bonding through all of those plans being changed every few minutes. There has been a third dinner hosting all of the important people of Beijing. And their kids. Possibly 45+ guests all packed into the living room, meeting each other, cutting cookies together, kids singing and making crafts together, faces being made, games being played. There is cookie decorating and lots of eating. Little girls in dresses and Chinese being practiced. There has been a guest appearance of Santa, portrayed by yours truly. And the shining children’s faces as they touched my nose and my “beard.”  There has been rest and reunion with friends on a Sunday, time to try to sleep with no success before a impulsive trip to Shanghai to explore. There has been joy and exhaustion and being able to share Christmas with people who may have never celebrated it in any way before. There has been a lady, a dear sweet colleague, who brings tears to my eyes with her constant service to others. Her constant love screamed through her actions. A sweet sweet lady who I thank G od for. There has been apples received and hot cocoa found and enjoyed.  There has been many a song sung an many a verse read about the life changing events that we remember. There has been life shared together.

This year, there has been no Indiana, no Ohio, no Dispenzas or Soloveikos. But there has been Christmas nonetheless. And I’m so thankful for that.

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.