Tag: Strength

Posted on

Alterations #3

Image by Brigitte Werner, Pixabay

I was watching and I saw when all those perfect gifts you brought, beautifully wrapped too, were torn open in an instant and tossed aside in a heap with all the brightly colored paper, bows, and ribbons left to be trampled on then carried away with the trash. How devastating. You must have felt shocked, hurt, angry, and very sad. All those hours getting ready for this party, the months of hope and anticipation of the big reveal almost, almost as though waiting for a new baby you had already been calling Joy, and all of it burnt out quicker than a shooting star, as if you didn’t matter.

Your precious gifts were salvaged, gathered and placed carefully on the altar atop fair linen embroidered with silver threads of love and compassion. Your glorious righteous anger, a glowing white-hot orb shooting out rays of piercing gold, placed in the center. The pall-covered chalice, not quite empty, sits to the right waiting to be filled to overflowing again with fizzy hope. A paten of hosts made of wheat and water, your strength and indomitable spirit baked in, rests on a hemp corporal. Tapers with fresh wicks wait to be sparked by the inextinguishable flame within you. These offerings of yours are worshipped and adored here, safe and ready for you to take back when you are rested from this trial.

You will shine again. The gash in your heart will be washed with strips of the purest cotton dipped in healing waters. The wound will heal, leaving a jagged scar. The candles will be lit, and you will sip with reverence from the chalice moistening parched lips. You will dissolve a dry host in your mouth renewing a steadfast spirit. You will take that glowing orb back out into the world and beam its protective light wherever it is needed. 

You are a survivor. You always were, you always will be. Your priceless gifts are worth more than all the pretend riches in the world. We need you. We always did, we always will. 

Posted on

Fortifying the Nest

Photo by Rich Mooney

On one of my morning walks, I watched from a distance as a small sparrow struggled to take flight with a piece of plastic easily four times her size. She would catch a corner in her beak and start to lift off, then drop the unwieldy find. She couldn’t quite get a purchase. As I walked closer, she abandoned it altogether and lit in a nearby bush. I knew without turning around that she would go back to it when I was safely out of range.

She got me thinking about what we carry that we keep hidden away for any number of reasons. Many of us do not want others to see our struggles, whatever they are, our pain, or maybe even shame. Maybe we’re being stoic and don’t want to trouble anyone, or maybe we need to keep things hidden because of our jobs or to keep peace with family and friends.

I found myself remembering the two French professors I had my first year of college. My first semester professor was fun and popular. The second semester professor was serious; her teaching style more rote. I ran into the first professor at a party, and when she asked how things were going, I complained about my second French professor. She told me to go easy on her; she had lost her fiancée in a car accident the previous summer.

It wasn’t the first time I realized that we don’t know what others are carrying, but it’s the first time I remember it really sinking in, which doesn’t mean I’ve always behaved in a way that acknowledges that. It’s a lesson I need to remind myself of over and over. 

Sometimes people don’t respond or act in a way we hoped for or expected. Every person we encounter, even glancingly, is struggling, has struggled, or will be struggling with something larger than they may be able to carry at any given moment. It’s easy to forget that in the day to day or when we are trying to get a grip on our own piece of unwieldly plastic. 

Birds are not pondering what is easy to lift or carry. They operate out of instinct and necessity for survival. The things that are difficult to hold hardly seem like material for a nest, but they are what fortify the nest to receive and welcome what is yet to come.