Last night I waited in the lamplight of a parking lot forming my thoughts for a friend into written prayer. The door opened as I finished and tired folks wandered out into the February tease of a balmy night. A familiar voice called out a greeting to me and I lowered the window to ask how she was doing. The reply captured me. “God is making a Genesis week out of the chaos in my life. And I’m loving it!”
I had to quickly write this as a closing to my prayer for my far away friend, widowed in the early hours of the day – O God, in this time of chaos in my dear friend’s life, may You breathe on her and bring about wonderful, creative, amazingly beautiful things for her in this time of new beginnings. Amen.
Thinking on words – papers and notebooks and filling them with words and words and words. That’s what I saw in the time before eye opening. “Write about it.” said the smile.
“More words on more paper.” I say into my coffee cup. Words seem a bit hidden today, maybe because I’m waiting for words from another. It’s early, I look at email waiting and hoping for affirmation of words I have written. The mail comes up and the screen critique tells me my words failed their purpose to tell a story well.
Deep breaths. Fresh coffee. There is more fresh paper and new pens await fresh words. I am not done yet with stories.
Winter still and earth stirs the plants to know that spring comes.
The light begins to change again and I hunt among dried leaves and find a gift in February, Lenten Roses. I carry one away to gaze into amazing beauty.
…daydreams, night time dreams. Daydreams can keep reality in check with chores undone, lessons unlearned and thoughts unchecked sometimes giants are slain and beauty grown. Night dreams can be veiled curious and strange or movie theater clear.
A while ago I had a dream. I was walking up a circular staircase carrying a box. The staircase reminded me of the steep, narrow steps in a lighthouse with windows high in the walls. In the dream I seemed to be talking with someone behind me about painting the walls when suddenly I was stuck. The passageway had become too narrow and that narrowing prevented me from even turning in retreat.
Eventually I think to ask the one behind me for advice and the knowing came to slide the box down onto the step before me where it just fits. Another question to my companion – step on it or attempt to step over it? And I know to step up on the box of past and use it to go farther up the stairs. And in my dreaming, I do. And everything is brighter.
Dreams instruct and I look inside to see what should be in the box and left behind so that I can climb up a step or three into a brighter place.
“Growler”. So called because when knew, he did! Although his growl was a bit more like a cow than I imagined a bear to sound.
He was a kind, thoughtful gift from my Godmother for the birthday when I stood at the doorway of leaving childhood and commented that I had never had a real Teddy Bear. Changes of all kinds were in the very air blowing in that door and I must have sensed the need of some anchor when I asked for one.
Growler was never a plaything for me but sat properly through my teen years. Except…except when it seemed he was used as a lure for quieting and he became amusement in crib and playpen for toddler grandchildren visiting my parents’ home. While photographs just show him lying around, somehow his fur wore off and claws went missing…
Long years after his growler wore out and his head began to lean sideways and there were no little ones to play with him, he came to live in my home. He spent many a year in a memory box occasionally coming out for Christmas visits and fresh bows. Then more recently he spent his days in a small rocking chair in sunbeams and moonlight.
This week, with cleaned up face and paws, I put him in a happy box and carried him to a new home where he was warmly welcomed by an old friend of his.
And I came home and suddenly felt bereft. I am not much of a saver so it was a surprise to feel tears. Maybe they came because of all he represented rather than that he was a possession; I am amazed how many memories can be held tight in a dear old bear.
If old bears could speak to each other, there would be a lot of happy talk going on in his new home where two other old bears speak love too.
I’m never fond of shoveling snow, but I do most winters. This winter is bland – so far – so it was a beautiful surprise to see the night’s dusting – no shoveling required!
Waiting with a mug of hot coffee for the beginnings of a new day is such a special time to me. Fresh beauty comes with the unfolding of a day. Today fine ice crystals adorn leaf and berry like fragile lace.