Tell me five things that are true
It was Wednesday, May 10, the first humid day. I have fully noted that fact and will keep my animosity at bay.
I quietly closed the door behind me, to conceal my departure and went to the hammock. Six robins, two blackbirds, and I could all feel the electricity in the air, the thick clouds rolling across the sky and so we all prepared in our own ways. They pecked at the ground and I breathed in the air and the rambunctious winds, my favorite kind of magic. I make it a life policy to never miss those moments before a storm. What a shame to let them pass without notice.
We spent the morning shopping, buying a new bench for the backyard. My son pushed the cart, while my daughter helped me carry it to the front of the store. We found a wind chime and unanimously agreed we needed it. To imagine that an object is made solely to dance in the wind, yes, we needed it. Then we shared a pretzel and a mango tea before buying a new bathing suit for the youngest and a dozen other things on our list. We perused every toy aisle as requested and purchased none. The cashier was friendly and kind, my son considered that maybe God made him that way to cheer up sad people. I smiled at the intuition and the truth, yes, yes to both.
As I drove across the long stretch of road leading up the the bridge and the Missouri river, I delighted in my pleasant morning. I was grateful for the provisions to buy things that we didn't direly need. I reveled in the goodness of just being together.
Approaching the bridge, I saw two cars pulled to the side. Next I saw two people. One had climbed the barrier and was hunched over, looking down. The other stood just a step away, reaching out a hand. Before I crossed the bridge, I heard a siren in the distance, saw lights in the rear view mirror. And just beyond two more cars had just pulled aside and people were rushing in their direction.
I could feel the desperation in the person perched on the ledge. I could feel the desperation in the outstretched hand. I'm unsure if one was stronger than the other. It was a brief, momentary glimpse and I kept driving, traffic was thick behind me. I know no facts or names, but desperation is universally human.
...
I have made my way inside to write this, the thunder booms now and it's nearly as dark as evening. The rain soaks the earth and the lightning sends a message to all things, both living and not.
I feel the juxtaposition, this moment in light of our hunt for a wind chime, just a silly little delight to marvel in the fact of being alive and noticing and the ability to see and hear. My heart feels heavy with a picture I can't un-see, with prayers I haven't stopped praying.
When my kids are purely irrational or deeply afraid or blindly menacing, I ask them to tell me five things that are true. Tell my five things, I say, and my fingers wait in anticipation. They slowly begin because they know I mean business.
1. I am always loved and created by God.
2. You will never stop loving me.
3. I am creative.
4. I am brave.
5. I am made to create peace.
And so we trudge through the truths, their breaths begin to calm, and their eyes begin to clear, because the lies are quieted and the fear is hushed. When the obstacle seems too hard, they are creative. When the fear is loud, they are brave. When chaos abounds, they can make peace. They are safe and known and deeply loved. And one day, tomorrow or years later, but I pray that the truth like lines of poetry will unfold in the deep recesses of their memories and anything contrary will have no chance.
I wonder if that precious and terrified lady felt truth penetrate the thick cloud of lies. I wonder if the outstretched hand was able to clasp her hand and squeeze it so tightly, as if they would never be separated and together walk away trembling and alive from the bridge. This is my prayer.
Tell me five things that are true...
I quietly closed the door behind me, to conceal my departure and went to the hammock. Six robins, two blackbirds, and I could all feel the electricity in the air, the thick clouds rolling across the sky and so we all prepared in our own ways. They pecked at the ground and I breathed in the air and the rambunctious winds, my favorite kind of magic. I make it a life policy to never miss those moments before a storm. What a shame to let them pass without notice.
We spent the morning shopping, buying a new bench for the backyard. My son pushed the cart, while my daughter helped me carry it to the front of the store. We found a wind chime and unanimously agreed we needed it. To imagine that an object is made solely to dance in the wind, yes, we needed it. Then we shared a pretzel and a mango tea before buying a new bathing suit for the youngest and a dozen other things on our list. We perused every toy aisle as requested and purchased none. The cashier was friendly and kind, my son considered that maybe God made him that way to cheer up sad people. I smiled at the intuition and the truth, yes, yes to both.
As I drove across the long stretch of road leading up the the bridge and the Missouri river, I delighted in my pleasant morning. I was grateful for the provisions to buy things that we didn't direly need. I reveled in the goodness of just being together.
Approaching the bridge, I saw two cars pulled to the side. Next I saw two people. One had climbed the barrier and was hunched over, looking down. The other stood just a step away, reaching out a hand. Before I crossed the bridge, I heard a siren in the distance, saw lights in the rear view mirror. And just beyond two more cars had just pulled aside and people were rushing in their direction.
I could feel the desperation in the person perched on the ledge. I could feel the desperation in the outstretched hand. I'm unsure if one was stronger than the other. It was a brief, momentary glimpse and I kept driving, traffic was thick behind me. I know no facts or names, but desperation is universally human.
...
I have made my way inside to write this, the thunder booms now and it's nearly as dark as evening. The rain soaks the earth and the lightning sends a message to all things, both living and not.
I feel the juxtaposition, this moment in light of our hunt for a wind chime, just a silly little delight to marvel in the fact of being alive and noticing and the ability to see and hear. My heart feels heavy with a picture I can't un-see, with prayers I haven't stopped praying.
When my kids are purely irrational or deeply afraid or blindly menacing, I ask them to tell me five things that are true. Tell my five things, I say, and my fingers wait in anticipation. They slowly begin because they know I mean business.
1. I am always loved and created by God.
2. You will never stop loving me.
3. I am creative.
4. I am brave.
5. I am made to create peace.
And so we trudge through the truths, their breaths begin to calm, and their eyes begin to clear, because the lies are quieted and the fear is hushed. When the obstacle seems too hard, they are creative. When the fear is loud, they are brave. When chaos abounds, they can make peace. They are safe and known and deeply loved. And one day, tomorrow or years later, but I pray that the truth like lines of poetry will unfold in the deep recesses of their memories and anything contrary will have no chance.
I wonder if that precious and terrified lady felt truth penetrate the thick cloud of lies. I wonder if the outstretched hand was able to clasp her hand and squeeze it so tightly, as if they would never be separated and together walk away trembling and alive from the bridge. This is my prayer.
Tell me five things that are true...
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