the peacock watched

the gilded cage opened and streams of life drifted outward.
the eyes of the peacock watched intently and knew freedom was at hand.
fire burned all ‘round promising to ignite and threatening to consume,
still the eyes of the peacock watched.

collage by christine @Abbey of the Arts

poem by lucy

The Girl in Yellow

Here's something a little different today.

The girl in yellow follows me in and out of the hours of my days. She catches me by surprise, and when I think of her I see light and sunshine. She emanates a glow and I see her smiling face in a bright yellow dress. She pulls me in. My heart feels light and just as suddenly I realize that her face framed by yellow is not laughing nor smiling. The color does not come from woven threads or gleaming rays of light. The yellow is not bright and sunshiny; it is, in fact, a smear.

The color is spreading and oozing down the dress she has just worn to Sunday school. The look on her face is one of horror and disbelief. At only seven years of age, she cannot understand what is happening. It feels like the time she cut open her arm on the swing set and blood spread over everything—slowly dripping onto her clothes. But this time the “blood” is not red. It does not come from an open wound. This blood is yellow and it slowly spreads across her chest and has splattered onto her arms. This blood, in fact, is mustard from a jar, broken when it slammed into her small shoulder after being hurled across the kitchen by her raging father.

She stands in shock, her face silent and frozen. While she was not the direct target of attack, she has become a casualty of war not much different than the child in a war torn country who suffers from shrapnel wounds because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Time has stopped as her mother, who instinctively ducked to avoid the incoming missile, turns to witness her beautiful young daughter covered in dripping yellow goo. Even her father stops his drunken rampage for a moment; sobered by the sight before him. She is his little princess and while he did not consider shielding her from his verbal attack, he never meant to physically hurt anyone—least of all his precious eldest child.

The girl takes in her parents’ shocked faces and immediately feels as though she is the one who has done something wrong. Shame floods over her and through her. She wants to cry and wail like a wounded animal and it appears as if that is just what she will do when suddenly a very slight movement catches the corner of her eye. It is her little brother, three years old. He has curled up into a ball and tucked himself into the corner of the kitchen.

Before her own tears start to flow, she hears the slightest whimper coming from the tiny boy. She cannot cry now. She must comfort her baby brother. She gently reaches down, takes his small hand into her own and says, “Come on, baby. Let’s go outside.”

The parents stand there motionless. They are incapable of caring for their children. They stand by as onlookers, watching as the seven-year-old moves into the role of protector and mother of both herself and her brother. Slowly and very quietly, the two children leave the room; tiptoeing as if their footsteps might give away their whereabouts even though all eyes are upon them. As they walk onto the front porch, the sunshine hits the front of the girl’s dress. There is a quick flash of brilliant yellow and then the gluttonous mess begins to turn brown and harden over the heart of the fair-haired girl.

Teachers...Questions...Christians

"Teachers arise from somewhere within me that is beyond me, the way the dark soil that is not the root holds the root and feeds the flower." --Mark Nepo

this morning i was invited to visit a young friend's new blog. he has recently left home for college and finds himself staying at the home of Christian friends. his post displayed many of his interior and exterior battles as he tries to navigate living with people whose religious beliefs he finds "a bit hard" for him.

it is so rich to have friends of all ages, genders, religions and life experiences. we have much to learn from each other. everyone is our teacher if we open ourselves to the possibility. this young man's post led me to respond to him with the questions i continue to ask myself as i walk through this journey toward and with God, so i thought i would share my response with you.

"just wondering what defines a "Christian" for you? i ask myself the same question all the time.

having grown up in a pretty traditional "Christian" place, i have found that the more i realize the expansiveness of the mystery of God and the universe and the lack of absolutes, the closer i come to knowing (truly knowing) that the way of God is love (which is so ethereal and impossible to adequately describe with words).

is love then the way of "Christians"? i know it doesn't always appear that way especially when we witness the "battles over denomination" and the "badgering toward salvation."

i have to wonder, however, what your hosts see in you that would lead them to believe you are "Christian". could it be the love you show toward others?

i hope and pray you will continue to ask yourself the questions and you will see the beautiful young man who can choose to live in love.

I fully believe that Christ's way is that of love...Does that therefore make those who love deeply and well Christians? many would say no, but many are opening their minds and hearts to reconsider what "love" and "Christian" truly represent."

while i wrote these words to my young friend, they were also written for myself and now also to those who will read them here. what does it mean to be "Christian?" what does it mean to love? what do you think?

The "And" is always nearby...

Of magic doors there is this, you do not see them even as you are passing through.
--Anonymous

It is night time. Evening. The end of a busy week. Come and gone. Filled with goodness and richness. Still, I am tired. A strong need to restore. Refresh. Rejuvenate. It takes energy to live out loud. AND in the moment, it takes no energy at all. My cup overflows. Friendship. Conversation. Engagement. Music. Sunshine. Scooter rides. Being present to the moment. Lovely and true. My world expanding. Friends. Work. The world at large. Strangers on the street. Engaging. Listening. Loving.

No ordinary moments. All come together in perfect timing and perfect harmony. Not pressing, just letting things happen in the midst of the busyness. AND, I miss my quiet time. My rest. The place where I find peace and solace with myself—for myself. I need me. I love that I do not need others to define who I am AND I love the engagement and realness of being with others.

Sometimes the realness of being with others can be overwhelming and takes me by surprise. Simple spoken words or gestures bring tears to my eyes. The gentle touch of a hug gives peace to a deep place in my soul. A complement confirms my own delight. AND the biting words or cold silence of another threaten to send me into a tailspin. The "and" is always nearby. No ordinary moments.

It is morning now and I am grateful for a little time to rest, reflect and write. The beginning of a new day. Freshly arrived. Waiting to be filled. And...

photo by bill

Wishing for...

...an infinity of serenity for you and me.