What a beautiful time
Morning
When light is just arriving
Oh the joyful certainty of sunrise
It will not stay dark forever
Scripture is taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright 1996, 2004, 2015 by Tyndale House Foundation. All rights reserved.Genesis 8:22 “As long as the earth remains, there will be planting and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night.”
Psalm 30:5b “Weeping may last through the night, but joy comes with the morning.”
Sometimes I take the stairs, but not today. I mean, it wasn’t like I didn’t need to take them. I had been sitting for hours; sitting and waiting. And with random people handing out free dessert, I needed the stairs today more than ever. Yes, there were times I stood, only to sit right back down again. I was greeting friends, old and new. Standing is almost exercise. And what about anticipation? Anticipation does excite the heart. Yes, we waited with much anticipation this morning; anticipation and joy. Joy was the other sweet treat distributed freely among us.
“Is she coming? Is it time?” “Almost. It’s taking a little longer than we expected,” he said. “It’s worth the wait,” I thought. “I wouldn’t miss this for anything!” I clutched my gift bag and smiled at the contents. Laughter and stories were shared; and then finally it was time.
“Are your cameras ready? Someone needs to get a video of this moment!” Someone? How about all of us?! With iCameras in hand, we silently huddled together straining for a glimpse of her. First came the husband in white and then her caregivers in blue. Then we saw her! “Yay!” we yelled. She almost didn’t see us. Her eyes were focused on one thing. She had been waiting for this moment. None of us will ever know how much. A few instructions were given and then she grabbed the rope; and moving it swiftly from side to side, she rang the bell! Yes. We heard it. We were standing there with her. But oh how it must have reverberated inside her. There were tears, of course. Tears of joy. Streams of victory and breaths of sweet release. Then one by one she hugged us all. She showed us her certificate of completion and her memorial bell. It didn’t ring very loudly- something she was determined to correct later. Then with one last look at her surroundings, in solidarity we walked toward the shiny, silver doors. All of us. And placing her in the center next to her little loves, we closed the doors, literally and figuratively; and ate cookies in the elevator.
For Shari. Thanking God she is now cancer free!
I love to spend a few minutes by a creek-
The peaceful sound of water rushing over stones and fallen trees
Autumnal colors: amber, brown and mossy green
A smooth, cold boulder seat
Stepping stones anchored to the creek bed
Jagged sticks and floating leaves cluster together
Capturing wild waters and taming them before my very eyes
Would-be waterfalls and an icy breeze
Spindly twigs and smoky clouds overlap the brilliant blue above me
Scented evergreens stand with bare maples
Remnant leaves waft by and then rest beside me
Too many to count
Ferns and slate protrude from the banks
Unmistakable and incomparable
I love to spend a few hours by a creek
Ah, to inspire…
Like the expanse of the ocean-
Waves crescendoing against a pink-blue sky
Or 70 and ten musicians devoted to the score
An atrium of sound flooding the soul
Or a climber who reached the peak
Against all odds
To inspire would be great
But then what?
Will the spark perpetuate greatness?
Or will it die like an ember upon the hearth?
I think I will bring joy instead
Available in a moment
Seen on the face
And felt in the belly
The giver and receiver, both lighter
Floating gently upward
Like two balloons released into the sky…
The room was abuzz with excitement as we waited for a table. This was my first time here, but my friends insisted this was the best place in town.
The best place for what you ask? For breakfast of course. Did I forget to mention that? It’s probably because I’m so hungry. Well, I was on the morning of this story.
I looked around from table to table- my eyes saw only strangers. My ears, now part of dozens of conversations already in progress, had only one question: “What was everyone talking about?!”
Well for one thing, they were talking about the fact that the owners were there. But don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t as if the staff was on high-alert; they weren’t walking on egg-shells. They were standing tall and doing their best, much like children who had practiced for weeks for their school recital, ready to perform for Momma and Daddy.
We took our seats. I looked around again but now with a mission- to find the owners. Surely it must be the two men sitting next to us. Dressed in business-casual, they talked intently without looking up. “Is that them?” I asked my friends. My instincts were wrong.
Soon after we placed our order, a lovely lady, dressed in red came by our table. Her personality was just as vibrant as her clothing. She welcomed us to her restaurant and asked a few questions to get to know us better. She told us a little about herself as well; and in just a few minutes we were old friends! The moment her story began to mirror my friends’, she excitedly called her husband over. (I had never met him before, but his City Grits are infamous!)
His age was no secret. His wife shared it with us right away! He was more than 70 years old, but he had the eyes of a young man- lit up from within and filled with purpose. Each wrinkle on his face told a story and he shared a few of them with us.
The one that immediately stood out to me was about integration. “You know what I mean,” he said. “When they integrated the schools, I moved (schools) across town.” Because of this, “move across town,” this 77 year old man graduated from the same school my friend graduated from, albeit several years earlier. My friend tells stories of how rough the school was when she went there; but if the walls could talk, they would tell stories of an even rougher time. A time when students of color became pioneers, trailblazers, if you will. A time that those who saw it first-hand will never forget. A time that, in part, shaped who they are today.
He didn’t say anything negative about those days. He didn’t discriminate against us because our skin happened to be the color of the people whose lips spewed hatred and contempt in the face of human rights.
Today, we sat around the table and talked and laughed about the things we have in common. Today, our differences weren’t dividing factors, but beautiful colors in masterful paintings. Paintings that are still being perfected by the divine artist.
I enjoyed meeting the owners today. They made me feel at home. I left happy, well-fed and with this thought: We are no longer chained to the past. We can’t rewrite history; but we can leave a different legacy for our children and grandchildren. A legacy that looks like Heaven- people of all colors, loving one another because of God who is love.
He had the eyes of a young man. I’ll never forget those eyes.
Dedicated to Turan & Sheryll Strange- the owners of Another Broken Egg, Pooler, Georgia.
Rhyme, Reason & Real Life 