What Did I Want to be When I Grew Up
I wanted to be loved. That seemed like enough. I know. I know. Need is not love. And yes, I was a bottomless pit of needs and wants. And now, I know no one can fill all of anyone’s needs, never-the-less wants. But my husband of sixty years tried his best, because he loved me. And the greatest gift he gave me was in his last years when he was very ill. He needed me. And with the grace of God, I learned to love.
The Fruit of Love
Feeling the tender softness of the gift beneath the golden skin, then tasting that moist sweetness and savoring its delight is exquisite pleasure. But cherishing the one we love more than our own ecstasy frees love to flow though us until we melt together now as one. And suddenly, we find ourselves at one with all God’s Glory.
My Sign of Hope
I’m breathless from struggling up the hill. A rope dangles before me, taunting, tempting, “You’re too old. Eighty-four is ancient. Your shoulder hurts. Your memory leaks. You’re worn out from the effort it takes to just keep on. Where will it get you? You’re not going to climb me, old woman.”
My shoulders slump. I know I can’t climb this rope. I stare at it and sigh. Maybe it could be a noose. I tie it in a loop. Why not give up? Who am I now? Why am I? Invisible, unheard, trapped in the ugly faded soundproof coffin of old age.
As I stare into the cloudy sky a memory comes. Swinging, floating long ago. Starting slow, swinging low, but keeping on until I touched the sky. I laugh and stretch the loop into a swing. Here I go. Starting slow. I feel a breeze teasing my hair. Climbing higher. Spirits lifting. A sunburst ignites a field of golden daffodils below. Daffodils, my sign of Hope.
What Do I Want Now?
I hunger to discover the inner silent me, the self that doesn’t dance for applause. I long to free my torn and scattered self from being tossed helplessly by the winds of constant irresistible distractions. To recognize and accept my new limits and be grateful for the graces freely given by the God who knew me then and now. I need so desperately to be silent, open, focused on listening to find my center where hope and the God of Love live.
Everything is God’s Music The Reveille of my morning coffee The Silent Night of snowdrifts and stars The morning Medley of gold and violet flowers The Love Songs and personalities of birds at feeders The exuberant Ode to Joy of my youngest two great-grandchildren The Arpeggio of love of four sons, a daughter, spouses and their children The Just as I Am courage and perseverance of grandchildren with challenges The Symphony of classes that feed my hunger for understanding of life and humanity The Amazing Grace of sometimes hearing the Spirit singing through my imperfect writing