Non Sibi

We arrived early that morning just an hour after the surgery began. I was told they would be waiting for us in the family waiting room, which was left of the information desk as you entered the revolving door.
Waiting rooms, I know them all too well. Being a sister with a handicapped brother, as bad as it sounds, I feel like my whole life is a waiting room.
As I shut the car door, I noticed  a white dove gracefully perched in a tree where we decided to park. Surely, this was a sign. I needed a sign. My brother was not well and this time, I feared was crucial. More crucial than all the other times. It just felt  different.
 A white dove, what an obvious sign. But my faith is so far gone, I hadn't even asked for a sign. Was it a sign or a symbol? Maybe it was a metaphor? Who  the Hell cared anymore. Not me.
I shuffled through the revolving door, another obvious metaphor. I hate revolving doors with their agitated sense of timing. One never knows when to enter or leave and there's that fear of getting sucked in and trapped.
The family waiting room had an air of false hope just like the decaffeinated coffee that the woman at the front desk offered us.  I thumbed through an out-dated  Self magazine with a fit blonde woman on the cover, which only angered me that much more.
A few hours went by and the surgeon came out to report. This was it, I just knew it. I was prepared. But, I was surprised to find he made it through just fine. I was at a loss. What now? More suffering??!! He's been through enough!
I am told I am not to know God's plan. I am not to question it either.
But, how much longer can my brother suffer? How is this fair?
Don't tell me life's not fair.
 I've heard that too much.
I wanted answers,
not symbols,
not signs,
nor metaphors.
I had to step outside. I searched desperately for the white dove, but all I found were trees full of grackles....

Beach Balls In Cornfields

Don't you agree that the things that  involve an element of surprise or wonder, usually tend to be the most interesting? I love the unexpected, but mostly only in nature. It's not as visually appealing  when people are involved.  Although, the adage about judging a book by it's cover comes to mind. But, I'm learning the older I get , the more peoples' covers tell their stories and I'm not that surprised.  The stories I wished I hadn't wasted the time reading and the ones I wonder how the hell they got  published in the first place. Then there are those, that seem vaguely familiar. You want to believe it's a new story, but the more you read, the more you realize you've read it before. That cover jacket just  slipped you up. You were duped. It doesn't matter though, because they got your money. That's usually how the story goes.
 So, without a photo, you'll just have to use your imagination. Imagine two   rubber beach  balls, with all their shiny colors  in the middle of a crispy golden cornfield.. This is what I saw the other day driving to  town.  An  image that stuck with me throughout the day.   Something so misplaced,and contrasted just begged for a caption.  But, we get a lot of wind here   in the middle of nowhere and lots of people have those above ground pools. The strangeness of it explained away and dismissed. Yet still, I can't shake the image.   Some things I feel that  I am only meant to notice. They may not make sense at the time. I mull them over and over until they do. 
It's my nature.
Beach balls in cornfields.

Bang Your Head

For the past week, every morning, and at the very same time, it begins. A thud, a slight pause, and a thud again, waking me from my slumber. It took a while to determine it's origin. It wasn't until I noticed a little cardinal at the front door. Shaking his head, he looked a bit bewildered, but more so determined as he flew a short distance away and slammed full speed into the glass once again...thud!
I am not sure whether to be impressed by his tenacity or saddened by his stupidity. It's a  similar feeling you have when you witness a friend, who is struggling and only you can  see the solution. I know I've had situations like this. We all have. I once had someone tell me that I could bang my head against a wall, just so many times and one day I'd realize that it really hurt. Those are true life lessons. Some people just need more head banging to rattle their senses, like this poor cardinal.
Call it tenacity,stick-with -it-ness, determination, or just sheer and utter stupidity.
I just wish he'd take to learning this lesson a little later, so I could get some sleep.
Stupid bird.

An inadvertent way of asking for prayer.

As the wildfire grows steadily worse in Colorado Springs, people are posting on Facebook their prayer requests. It’s close to home for me, for I  lived there just a few years ago and  still have friends  there. I  know personally, what burns and what may no longer be. There’s an ache I cannot express. I am scared  , but more so, I feel guilty. 

You see, today my father had major surgery. I mean, major surgery. He needed prayers. I told my closest friends and I know they prayed, but I just couldn’t post it on Facebook. It didn’t feel right.

 It felt hypocritical in so many ways.

I spoke to dad after his 6 hour surgery. I told him I prayed all day. It’s what he wanted to hear. He thanked me. He made it though and is doing well. Truth is, well…I am not too sure about praying anymore, as harsh as that sounds. I just don’t know.  I did an awful lot of worrying. I thought about how I got to say, “I love you” over the phone the night before and feared those would be my last words, no matter how awkward and foreign they sounded coming out. With Facebook being a sure fire way to get prayers, I felt bad about broadcasting such a personal request. Yet, ask for prayers about a fire in a place I lived and loved, I had no problem. Maybe it was an inadvertent way of asking for prayers for my Dad.

My dad, an ache I cannot express.  I love him so, but will never be able to express it in the way that isn’t awkward and foreign..just  like a place I used to live and love so much. Colorado Springs is said to be "God's Country". It's breathtaking. If you've never been there,  you should put it on your "bucket -list".

Prayer for me is too abstract right now.

 I know it works. I have proof.

 I’m just not there at the moment, so I’m asking you.

Please pray for my dad and his healing and a beautiful place called God's Country.

The Strand

You were carefully selected

based on your luster and shape.

In the past, these unique qualities

made you feel unusual and alone.

A tiny hole was drilled through your soul

and slowly

you were threaded

with others just like you.

Little knots were tied by your sides,

which silenced your insecurities.

You enjoyed the dual nature of these knots.

For not only did they distinguish you individually,

they secured your place in this beautiful strand.

The Nature Of Things

I don't want to ever be considered one who disturbs the nature of things. If I died today, let it be known that I was a preservationist of all things chippy, rusted, and vintage. I don't know if this narrative would ever succeed me, or have the kind of credence I imagine. Maybe it should be my epitaph instead, written in stone to confuse everyone for the rest of time. I'm good at that; no need to stop.

There's a rusted yellow sink in a ravine downside the path I walk each day. It's the perfect shade of faded yellow, almost butter,

mixed with rust, almost nutmeg.

It's eggnog!

I wonder how the heck I'd lug it up the ravine. It has to be rescued, for only I can see it's beauty and possibilities.

I've been wondering for a year now. The perfect planter, chicken feeder, or it could just come live on the farm next to the rusty tub by the barn waiting for the special day to have a reason. Not all things are that fortunate.

Yet each day the yellow sink turns into sour grapes. It's imagined as too heavy, too rusty, and useless. Then today it dawned on me. I can't rescue this sink, it's habitat.

I can't disturb habitat.

It's like a sunken ship on the ocean floor possibly providing shelter for all things small and smaller in the woods.

I looked up habitat and not only is it defined as a shelter, it is a way to obtain food, water, and attract a mate.

It was then that I

pictured a little "do not disturb" sign hanging from the corner of the yellow sink and I thought, Who am I to disturb the nature of things?

Lured

That shiny exterior lures you every time.

Yet, still you bite.

Why can't you see those backward facing points?

It's hard because they are hidden so perfectly behind the glitz and shine.

So, you bite again.

Dragging you deeper and deeper in.

Even further than you thought you'd go.

Time passes

and you bite once more, thinking it may be different.

But it's not.

Not until

that day.

The day when you just can't bite anymore

because you've recognized the bait

and realized it is false.

And, Oh my! ....It's Always been false!

This is the day that you swim.

Swim faster and more accurately than you've ever had before.

But, for how long?