Meandering downstream

Reflections fascinate my toddlers.  Ezra smiles at the "baby" in a water-filled bucket and gingerly touches the water's silken skin, sending ripples in every direction.  Joey laughs at the little boy caught in the sheen of a glass door and asks "how we get him out?"  Mirrors provide endless opportunities for the boys to squeal in delight; and just as fun are prisms.

Adults obsess over reflections in a different way.  Our reflections show myriad examples of what we do not like about ourselves.  Perhaps a silver hair here, a wrinkle there.  Inevitably, we walk away with a sigh still lingering nearby.  Friend, we do not just obsess over our images, either, but also our memories.  Remember when?  If only, just good memories came to light.

Recently, I have reflected on something I knew and yet re-realized.  Growing up, not all of us are in control of our decisions.  So many hands are trying to mold us into something beyond what we are.  Those are the hands of peers, parents, community, nation, etc.  And amidst the din of other voices, our own gets smothered.  Yet, when we finally find our own voice, those hands start pulling and pushing again.  If we are not who others want us to be, then we're labeled and set on a shelf for the sake of someone else's personal convenience.  Do you ever feel like that, friend?  Has there been a time in your life when you just didn't know what to do or say?

Instead of struggling against the current, I would rather meander downstream for a while and savor the blessings God has woven into my life.  Would you enjoy the same?  When the rapids come, I'll be ready to raise my voice - but not in discord or malice.  Instead, I want to season words and actions with truth and hope and compassion.

Shrill Crickets

Sounds, not words, are my one-year-old's noises of choice.  Ezra can say hot, blueberry, bed, hat, and especially Mommy and Daddy; however, he prefers shriller means of communication.  And that communication is more constant than my three-year-old's repetitive questioning - you know, the infamous why stage.  With such chaos in the household, nature's bounty of beautiful sounds is often overwhelmed - even when we go outside.

And yet, with a cup of hot tea wafting ginger, orange, and mint, I sat in a chair and stared at the purple mountain's gentle slope.  Red and yellow flowers cheered the scene, while droning bees licked nectar.  A breeze rattled metal chimes hanging along the front porch; chickens cackled with gusto to start the day; the crickets' chords were plentiful!  Entranced by the symphony, I cried.  Not just because it had been weeks since I had drenched myself in nature's voice, but also because so many negative memories and unkind comments harassed my mind of late.

Does this happen to you, friend?  Too late, do you find yourself drifting away from your perceived course and floating into a zone of bluebottles, whose pain-inflicting tentacles hide just below the water's sheen? 

As summer gives way to autumn, I find the promise of change thick in the air.  May change scour our hearts in order to bring about a new rhythm in our lives - one that whispers love and joy and hope.  And, may such renewed heart songs help our ears to light upon less shrill chords.

Drizzly Daydream

Walking below a canopy of bare black limbs, my solemnity seemed to seep even into the heavens where grey clouds drizzled a slight mist.  Sleek umbrellas in hand, our party passed from the Elm Grove to the Bethesda Terrace, where the Angel of the Waters stood above an empty fountain.  Today I wanted to take the lily proffered by the angel's hand and feel its purity cleanse the pent up tension from my shoulders, where two toddlers and the challenges of motherhood had gravitated into a great weight.

Wispy willow leaves were just appearing upon a tree distant from the terrace.  The lake's ethereal glow cast our scene into a daydream.  But, still the pool remained empty - none of the blessed water remained for my inner healing.

Intricately carved stone dotted the balustrades as I slowly turned to appreciate this portion of Central Park.  Below Emma's angel, four sweet cherubs have watched the same sights for over a century.  That time has yielded opposing degrees of change along the terrace.  And yet, still they are here: temperance, purity, health, and peace.

The fountain might be empty for the season, but as I turn to savor other daydreams caught within the city, I sigh and acknowledge that some gifts are present even when daily challenges cover them from view.  If I just take a moment to peer upon those tucked away blessings, I can feel the healing that comes from taking an outstretched hand.

Winding Lines

West 44th Street quivered with life.  People pressed into pizzerias to savor myriad combinations of toppings that graced a simple dough.  Entertaining Broadway shows, their neon lights blaring for attention, curled tempting fingers at passers-by.  And, winding lines of Discovery museum fans spilled into the normal flow of biped-traffic along the sidewalks.  Under the main door awning, a museum worker haltingly requested visitors to align along the block.  My heart stopped.

"Is this for the Pompeii exhibit?" said my friend with incredulity dripping in her voice.

"Oh, no!  Please come in!"  Relief struck both her panic purview and my het up heart as we by-passed the line for observing Harry Potter paraphernalia.  Those waiting near at hand protested to our quick admission.  If only they had been as interested in lighting upon the unearthed remains and surprising finds from Pompeii and Herculaneum after Vesuvius' wrath decimated the Italian towns almost 2,000 years ago.

Molds of victims scattered one room: here, a chained dog, there, a man face down at the base of a staircase; a smothered family of four; a woman clutching the spent folds of her tunica close to trembling lips; a figure huddled on the floor and wrapped in his fear at the monstrous calamity overwhelming him.  Their remains are long gone, but the essence of their experience on a warm August day in 79 AD has been captured for us to remember and reflect on how we face the disasters and challenges of today.

Friend, can you imagine the welling panic and resolute end that these people faced?  What about the survivors?  What nightmares woke them in the middle of the night?  Whose names leaked from their lips as they longed for loved ones lost in the volcanic eruption?

Perhaps I should place my own frets and frustrations into perspective, and remember that I have a life to live and to share with those I love.  It's difficult to cast away the burdens we daily face, but we can chose to change disgruntled attitudes and focus on what matters most.

Crushed Crackers

Dust pan and mop in hand, I sweep crumbs from the floor under the kitchen table.  Little feet dangle in the me-too chair, where Ezra happily munches crackers and sings "la-la-la" or "h-o-t" in exuberant chords.  While my nearly-one-year-old explores his musical side, the trash can door squeaks open and I send an avalanche of lunch left-overs into the bin.

When Ezra finishes his snack, I lift him out of his chair and put him down.  Like a wind-up car, he puts his gear in go and is off before I have my hands off his arms.  Smile turns to sigh as I glance back under the table.  Almost as many cracker crumbs dust the floor under his chair as did before I swept.  Now, I'll have to do it again!

Friend, does your day seem to run accordingly?  I have habits that, although I try to change, seem to come back like weeds in the garden.  Plucking those verdant plants is inevitable, but even that doesn't completely halt their hasty return.  It takes vigilance and daily devotion - and those are habits in and of themselves.

So, I'll grab my mob and dust pan and gather up those cracker crumbs - hoping that some sort of order will result one day soon.

Duck Feet

"They're like duck feet," my three-year-old said as he came into the living room.

Joey's steps sounded oddly soft and flappery against the cherry-wood laminate.  His huge smile was contagious and easily so: for as I slid my eyes to his toes, I could not help but chuckle.  On either foot, Joey had slipped one of his daddy's black leather gloves: each toe appeared elongated like that of a chicken.

"It's funny," Joey declared, with eyes squinched from so much smiling and hands clasped in child-like humility.

I am so glad that laughter and smiles are as easy to catch as hiccups, yawns, and colds.  When you are around someone with whom you are comfortable enough to really be yourself - no fear of judgment or misunderstanding - love's warmth can cheer any mood.

And you, friend?  Has someone else's lovely outlook on life given you ripples of chortles to savor?  Do you bask in love's warmth each day?  If not, let's fill our lives with those special someones that make even the least anticipated chore a grand adventure!

Muffled Memory

It's amazing how my muffled memories can be so powerful.  Certain emotions, situations, and senses can illicit an uncanny reminder of pleasant and not-so-pleasant experiences that I might not be able to recall should I really want to.  How difficult to push past poignant recollections of tense tribulations, especially!  Sometimes, I wish my memory were embedded with its own off switch.  But, alas, 'tis not so.

And yet, flipping through our family's annual photo books yields beautiful re-encounters with little blessings we savored throughout the year - such as a day trip hiking or the birth of a son or celebrating a birthday or even just a first haircut for the boys.  How could I forget such seemingly memorable joys, when the more despairing memories surface from my cloudy mind almost readily?

Friend, do you find your mind wandering away from the joys in life, too?  Do you dwell on the hardships?  Let's try to remind ourselves that beyond those hardships are scintillating stars more beautiful than diamonds and just waiting for us to roll back our shoulders, lift our heads high, and smile once again to refocus ourselves.