I am again confused about scripture. Sometimes, Jesus said the word and people would rise up from the dead like his friend, Lazarus. Other times, Jesus insisted the person should “stretch out his hand” or “rise up” before being healed.
We tend to mark our lives by world events that change history. For me, these are: the 1967 Six Day Arab Israeli War, the Lebanese Civil War, the Twin Towers, and the Covid Pandemic. Yet, I firmly believe that our lives are actually lived for the quiet. intimate moments that mark nor our calendars, but our hearts:
My mom is passed. What I have are stories, stories stacked on top of each other: piled by my reading chair like a precarious coffee table, stories neatly categorized and displayed in albums, and stories typed and filed away as keepsake letters. Stories carry memories and connect us to each other like charms on a charm bracelet.
The sun doesn’t give a hoot how I feel! It rises and sets regardless if I notice it or not. Therefore, if I’m going to enjoy it, that is up to me.
Only occasionally do we see the beauty of what’s underneath the surface because in our Western Society, we expend so much energy on physical beauty, that we miss out on the low-lying gems.
Both my sons have inherited the gardening bug from me. Nevertheless, one in particular intersperses our conversations and texts with his storied gardening exploits or even seemingly failures. I receive pictures of: a truck load of compost and plants, a camellia bush showing out, and herbs gone amok. Sometimes it’s a picture of a barren corner accompanied by the question, “What do I put here?” I love these back-and-forth exchanges!