Today's writing should be read as a follow up, companion to yesterday's: I Can Hear it in the Wind
Sunday and a Child’s Message
Sunday – and the
morning rises cold. Sunlight streaming, warmth retreating. More light
than heat in the east this morning. But I am up. Awake and cold.
Sunday – another
day, another week, in the longest of years. Would this be a day of
safety and security? Or, given our recent history, a dreadful day of
struggle for survival? An age of cruelty and we wonder what we are
becoming. Unsociable. Unwanted. Unwelcome.
What would be
revealed today? My sickness. My wounds. Nothing unexpected.
Sunday – half
empty faith with too much knowledge and too little experience
Sunday – half
empty faith with too little knowledge and too many experiences.
And here it is: I
know nothing with certitude. I know nothing with a knowingness.
No more words of
boasting. No more bounding bold claims. I needed to worship and to
write. And to listen to whispered words.
Sunday – in the
pew. A child’s message is slipped into my hand. A child’s message
written in block letters and blue marker:
Be Kind.
Be
Courageous.
Be Curious.
Love, L.
Sunday – things
change and change again. But never in a straight line.
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