Appreciating the silence...

After my bath, I slipped on my nightgown and walked across the linoleum floors and old tattered carpets of our lake house. I was 6 or maybe 7. My mother sat in an over-stuffed reclining chair and my grandmother sat on the couch, both with a glass of wine. They talked and watched Saturday evening television, laughter filling the room. 

Not finding my grandfather in the living room, I went searching. I pressed my face against the glass of the front door and looked out into the night. I quietly opened the heavy door and pushed the old white screen door into the darkness, hoping to find him there.

The porch, with its AstroTurf flooring, was enclosed with a thin screen all the way around. As one of my feet touched the scratchy green I heard him rustle in the dark, his voice low and calm, "Shh...Missy, come over here beside me." I walked slowly, lightly and felt my way to the huge rocking chair sitting beside his. I crawled up into it and from that height—where my feet could not touch the ground—we would sit. Every once in a while his big, gentle hand covered mine and he'd say, "Do you see the deer? Can you hear     them?", and we would watch and listen in silence as the deer came up almost close enough to touch. 

I remember falling asleep sitting beside him on those hot summer nights and the way he moved in silence as he lifted me all at once into his arms and tucked me safely away in bed.

Before it breaks...

Before It Breaks by Brandi Carlile

Around here it’s the hardest time of year.
Waking up, the days are even gone.
Well, the collar on my coat
will help me kill off the cold.
Will the raindrops sting my eyes or keep them closed?

I’m feeling the pain
a little lonely
and my quietest friend
out in the moonlight
and I let you in.
Say it ain’t so,
say I’m happy again.

Say it’s over.
Say I’m dreaming.
Say I’m better than you left me.
Say you’re sorry.
I can take it.

Say you’ll wait.
Say you won’t.
Say you love me.
Say you don’t.
I can make my own mistakes.

Let it bend before it breaks.

I’m alright, don’t know how I seem to be.
I’m not swinging on the stars.
Don’t wanna wear them on my sleeves.
I went looking for a crossroads,
it happens every day.
And whichever way you turn,
I’m gonna turn the other way.

And say it’s over.
Say I’m dreaming.
Say I’m better than you left me.
Say you’re sorry.
I can take it.

Say you’ll wait.
Say you won’t.
Say you love me.
Say you don’t.
I can make my own mistakes.

Learn to let it bend before it breaks.

Say it’s over.
Say I’m dreaming.
Say I’m better than you left me.
Say you’re sorry.
I can take it.

Say you’ll wait.
Say you won’t.
Say you love me.
Say you don’t.
I can make my own mistakes.

Let it bend before it breaks.

The moon and me...

If the crescent moon asked me to come over and share milk and cookies before bed, I would. And I would sit in the small space before the curve, legs folded underneath, and I would listen to his tales of how long he and Earth have been friends and he would tell centuries-worth of stories spanning every continent that would make my problems seem so insignificant that when I finished my milk and he lowered my feet to land I would sleep soundly, for the first time in a long time, and in the morning my feet would touch bare floors without a care in the world. 

Calming the storm...

Mark 4:35-40

35 On that day, when evening had come, he said to them, “Let us go across to the other side.” 36 And leaving the crowd, they took him with them in the boat, just as he was. Other boats were with him. 37 A great windstorm arose, and the waves were breaking into the boat, so that the boat was already filling. 38 Jesus was in the stern, sleeping on a cushion. The disciples woke him and said to him, “Teacher, do you not care if we drown?” 39 And he awoke and rebuked the wind and said to the sea, “Peace! Be still!” And the wind ceased, and it was completely calm. 40 He said to his disciples, “Why are you so afraid? Have you still no faith?”

The company she keeps...

Sometimes she would fall asleep while reading. Her glasses sliding down her nose to the comforter and finally to the ground. The book, still open, tossed beside her as she shifted down further under the covers. The familiar, soothing words of the pages keeping watch over her through the night. The days were long, but she found comfort sleeping curled up beside an old friend.

The Velveteen Rabbit...

"What is real?" asked the Rabbit one day.

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse.  "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time. Not just to play with, but really loves you. Then you become real."

 

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are real, you don't mind being hurt."

 

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?" 

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't often happen to people who break easily or who have sharp edges or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are real most of your hair has been loved off and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all because once you are real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

Love is a battlefield...

Thousands of years ago, it was the same story. Boy met girl. Boy loved girl. Other boy loved girl. And those two boys waged a fight—a war of bronze weapons and passion that launched 1000 ships—as a symbol of their devotion. The outcome of the war was the decision. Which man won her love.

The Trojan horse sat outside the castle walls. Waiting to empty itself at the first sign of movement, ensuring a victorious outcome.

Modern day, it is the same story. Boy meets girl. Boy loves girl. Other boy loves girl. And those two boys wage a fight—a brawl of fists and passion that ignites the senses—as a symbol of their devotion. The outcome of the brawl is the decision. Which man wins her love.

His heart is that same Trojan horse, sitting outside her walls. Waiting to empty itself at the first sign of movement, despite the outcome.