Wisdom's Eyes and Hands

She has grown up. She doesn't think herself small. She can walk now. She is starting to talk. She is letting the world know what she wants and does not want. She laughs. She runs for hugs. She stands in front of strangers until they smile. She loves without fear. She never doubts that life will, with tender love, fill in the holes. She still looks out the window. She takes time to see.  

On the first day of 2011, I prayed to be so wise.

A year later, even more grown up and has found her voice, she looks with wonder into the Light determined to hold the Candle in her own hands.

On this day, may I too be as strong.

Nourishing Touch

The executive doodles as PowerPoint graphs offer themselves to be his palette of oils upon the yellow legal pad, the only canvas the artist inside himself knows.  The mother slowly pirouettes with broom in hand, the only dance partner the ballerina inside her heart knows.  The commuter discovers an invisible microphone and sings to a packed stadium of fellow commuters in their own cars, while another, far away, carries the tune on his air guitar. And I leave my simple thoughts here.
Moments suspended in time, when in the womb of silence and alone, we are nourished by the cord of life and daring to remember the awe and wonder of our dreams, we reach out and touch.

I am the Child

For the grace to see fear as a child that begs a hand to hold hers,  I say thank you.

For the grace to see hopelessness as a child that begs an embrace, I say thank you.

For the grace to see uncertainty as a child awaiting an unlimited future yet to arrive, I say thank you.

For the grace to feel pain, and to know sweet Hands of Life, I am the child, I say thank you.