Seeing

Lisa walked by the same park every day from the bus to her workplace, and then back to the bus stop. Her eyes may have tracked upwards to the trees, to catch a calling bird, or even on occaision to look at the various vendors and their delicious smelling food - but she rarely remembered much about the park itself. Oh, she knew, for instance, that it had evergreen trees, but this was Washington - everywhere had evergreen trees. And she knew, for example, that the seagulls liked to eat the french fries sold by the hotdog stand that frequented the park with its tantalizing grill smells. Other than that, however, she couldn't really tell you much about it.

Lisa walked with the same measured pace every day from her bus to her workplace, clicking her heels down, click click click, in the same place on the sidewalk everyday. Three exactly measured steps between cracks, keeping herself even by balancing left foot first and then right. There were exactly 104 different squares of sidewalk between her bus and her work, which meant that she had an even number of steps. One time she found herself counting them quietly under her breath. That was a bit too much for her though, and she stopped when she reached 284. She hadn't really realized it until then. 

Lisa walked with her chin against her chest every day from her bus to her workplace and back, eyes down - almost a forty-five degree angle, chin meeting chest or blouse or coat. Her measured pace and exacting steps met the critique of her eyes with every slight clicking sound humming in her ears. Lisa's no neck gait meant she didn't see the world around her, didn't notice the seasons changing, didn't even notice the hotdog stand changing ownership or the seagulls dive-bombing people with french fries. Lisa couldn't even tell you what color the building were on the left or the right, or what they housed.  104 squares from the bus to the office. 104 squares from the office to the bus. Rain, sleet, snow or sunshine, it didn't matter. Same heels. Same clicking gait. Four years.

Lisa walked, no necked, head down, 97 squares of clicking exactedness on a sunny day in March - and then her left shoe's heel broke. She stopped. Her eyes traced backwards to the forlorn stub of a high heel lying on the sidewalk one exactly measured clicking gait backwards from where she now stood, balancing precariously on her right foot - not entirely sure what to do. She looks down at her left foot, examining the offending shoe with a mystified look, her brown eyes gazing from the broken stub to the sole of the shoe and then back again, each glance causing her more and more frustration.

And then - Lisa looked up.

There, above the ground line, above her physical horizen line where she had spent the last four years of her life, was a park. There were evergreen trees surrounding a small pond where little ducks splashed and cackled and a hotdog stand sold steaming fresh hotdogs to a small group of children playing in a sand box and their parents, standing and talking, espresso's in hand. And a park bench, perfectly positioned only a few small steps away beckoned her to stop staring at her offensive shoe, stop staring at the way that the pathetic heel drooped on the sidewalk, and instead to sit, and watch the small children as they threw sand at one another.

Lisa puts her left foot on the ground, and it doesn't click. She moves, slowly, her fingers outstreched, wobbling slightly every time she rises on her right foot and falls on her left, until she reaches the bench, and curling her fingers around it, holds on. It is like she is drowning, the seagulls calling overhead, the laughter of the children, a million miles away, and yet distinct, natural, normal.  She realizes that she has heard them before. She had to have heard them before, she is 97 sidewalk squares in to her 104 square commute. She slides around the park benches edge and sits heavily, her body relaxing against the soft slightly sun-warmed wood, her hands slipping naturally into the pockets of her coat as she tucks her chin into the neckline and watches.  The sun is just behind the trees, midmorning yet, and they are silhouetted perfectly against a deep blue sky, each branch a dark exclamation point that declares the beauty of its surroundings.  Her phone beeps at her, and she glances down at her watch and standing, she walks, not even noticing how many steps or clicks, the rest of the way to the office.

Lisa walks a length of sidewalk in her tennis shoes, carrying her work shoes, from the bus to the office, smiles and waves at the parents, and buys a hotdog.

A Moment

It is a moment.

Deeper than music and more profound than lyrics, it is a moment where Soul and Spirit collide, breath matches beat and skin writhes and bumps.  The voices of those around you fade into the moment, clarity and joy, perfect worship.  Your Soul raises itself, wrapping arms around Spirit, who has never, will never, let go.  Harmony, peace, erupting as the music soars into the final chorus...

and then,

with a shuddering gasp of breath,

the music ends.

And you fall.  Back into the body that holds you, the nature that eyes you greedily, the mind ever contrary. Joy is replaced with longing and Soul sighs, losing its grip while Spirit, ever steady, whispers "soon my child, soon."

It is a moment where heaven opens and you commune with Him, but it is only a moment, and too soon - your Soul trapped in this body - it is gone. 

But now you are addicted. Every thread of your being seeking to glorify Him so that you may one day sit in his presence and find the joy, the peace, the love, that never ends. The feeling that wont go away.  And He is deserving. Oh so worthy. Of all that I can give. 

Lord help me to glorify you. Raise me up so that I may better see and understand your will, your love, your peace and joy. Give me that hope, remind me daily of your grace.

Thank you father.

Amen.

Dedication

For the One who spoke, and in His words was life and breath; for the One who spoke and in his words is life for us all.

May my words help separate the darkness from the light, that He might proclaim "well done, good and faithful servant."

I am a work in progress, but the work is all for Him.