Learning To Live As A Child

spencer with butterfly on handI sat in the middle of a field of clover yesterday, cold spring wind chilling my bones while my insides were warmed by discovery.
I sat in the middle of a playground yesterday, not as a mother or grandmother, but as a new friend to small children.

And I walked through the backdoor of childhood and saw the world through the portal of wonder. It was as if I were a little Alice for an hour or two. But you don’t get there in the blink or the nod or the snap you might think.

No it is a slower dance than even I thought it would be.

Re-entering the world of little ones. You walk gently into sacred territory with respect and eyes wide open to wonder.

And it looks like  preparing for a make believe wedding with clover bridesmaids bouquets. And it smells like dirt balls thrown high to the sky. They are snow or dirt or sand. You speak it and they are changed.It feels like ice-cold metal chain. You hold the chain while you push the swing and if its March and Spring is late, the metal is cold as blocks of ice on your trembling flesh.

When I pulled the white down comforter up over my memories of the day and tucked myself into bed I remembered. I remembered what I learned from being a child, the stirring of emotions my backdoor entrance into childhood kept me awake. I longed to hold on to the day that I knew could not be repeated. Not one of them can.
I can still smell the clover, sweet and fresh. I lifted the flower to my noise over and over this day trying to recall if I remembered this fragrance.

But it smelled new to me. As so much of the day felt new. How had I forgotten the smell of clover or had I never recorded it in my youth.

Had I let my self grow so far away from the mystery and wonder of seeing the world as an Alice?

I asked my new friend who is five or so to see if she could find a four leaf clover. And then I waited for her return. Sweet excitement in her face, she brought back a hand filled with new discovery. That a four leaf clover can be a three leaf clover plus one borrowed leaf from another. That life can be viewed and seen in so many different ways. We limit ourselves as adults. I looked down at the three leaf clover plus the ripped piece from another, sacrificed to total four. Amazed by her creativity, I long to see the world with saucer-shaped eyes. To see it slant in all its mysteries.

At her invitation into child’s play, I entered into a game of hide and seek and found so much more than my friend hiding behind a tree trunk. I re-discovered play and release of the bondage of adult sensibilities, if just for a few minutes. Life is full through the eyes of a child. We watched dogs race and return a thrown ball to their human. And we found squirrels’ nests nestled in the bare tree limbs. And in these frozen moments on a cold spring day, I stared at a squirrel scratch an itch behind his ear. And helped my friend see two messy nests. Where have I been looking if not up. How have I missed so much.

And in throwing a baseball back and forth with her three year little brother, I observed meekness, gentleness, and forgiveness when the ball hit hard on her back. I learned in an afternoon in the park what I needed to tuck into my soul for a refresher course. I needed remediation on play.

I needed to count and run and watch a made up disco dance. And say good job. My soul was hungry for looking at art drawn in the sand with a stick. My soul needed  to watch a paper plate soar as a frisbee on a windy day. My imagination lay dormant more than I knew. Until it was cracked open a bit at the hand of a wildly creative girl and her brother.

Discovery came through the eyes of a child, on a cold day, in a park in Charleston. When the world of an adult was frozen, thankfully in time. And a dormant imagination began to  wake up to the new world that waits all around.

I was Alice for a day because of  friendship and a playdate. One boy and one girl helped me see the world through the eyes of a child. And I am learning to live as a child again.

spencer gets a shot from the top

Joining Jen and Heather.

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Collide

ive got my eye on you dirty donkey

Punctured through the thin membrane
She glances back through glazed wet eyes
Pierces life suspended, breaks with fork prong
Pokes the times that crashed though cushioned
Twisted metal years collide held in gentle memory

She stares at hope, mercy new broken through
The soil of new black earth
Wet with promise
Holding pregnant pauses possibilities
Birth and death collide

Your days, our lives
Intersected crossed, our paths
Left marks that tell of living
Skid marks, post marks
Sealed the envelope of life with love
And cracked it open time and time again

Sheltered cushioned every time
Amazing grace how sweet the sound
Has saved each misstep along the way
And held we were by mercy’s arms
By Glory here and Glory there
A halleluia chorus gathered round and rocked us into safe sweet arms
Though

We collide.

Encouragement – A Letter In The Sky

mcvl hot and cold sky sunset

The heavens write letters of encouragement too. Just stand under it and read the bold strokes of orange, flame yellows against a canvas grey.

And a seeking soul finds solace under the canopy of God’s intimate signature of glory. Hope strokes, brush strokes, holy caligraphy for a sinking, seeking wounded weary woman. Man.

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Because the Great I Am is the great sky writer. Of grace notes in the sky. Set before the ones He loves. The downcast and the sin-weary. The misunderstood and missing out.

On the days of the mid-stride missteps in the sojourner’s journey, rest under cover  of the God sky. Take cover. Take encouragement.
There is more than a silver lining though there is that. There are glory streaks of brilliant screaming God colors.

Open the notes penned in the sky with pinks. Grey’s moment is waning and God’s people are the hope clingers under the envelope of blue. Looking up and looking long into his heavenly canvas gives life from the Creator of yours, of mine.

Desperate down-trodden sister sojourner, take the God letters to heart. Read them slow, these skyward treasures for the wet and weary. The radiant Son of Man is come and will come again.

Rest under the knowing.

sunset over jeremy creek mcvl

Walk into the waiting calm with strength, fresh strength from the mighty storm. Hold fast and long to torrential grace which washed you in the reigning down. Press into the new day, strong and strengthened one. Let storms renew. Shake off despair, let the rain wash you, refresh you, renew you, protected Child of God.

mcclellanville sunset jeremy

Stand facing strong while you read the letters He writes for His still-earth-bound children. Face all with a knowing that He walks and shields. Loves and guides. Watches out over the weary.

Plant sure your feet while the winds whip, they will. He shoulders the blistering winds of worry and guards the tired soul. Seek Him as the sky turns to indigo, lavender and plum. He writes his love notes, pens them beautiful. Pens them with love. Pens them for you.

Patient One McClellanville

Open the grace and rest under His Heavens, weary ones.

Look into His eyes and into His skies.

Take, receive, hold fast to the encouragement He gives.

It is grace. Take the manna from the skies, God-sent.

Take grace. And give thanks.

Until you rest your weary soul under the black of night with a head filled with prayer and a heart filled with praise.

And shout your loud amens.

Blue Moon HMM

 For you are not alone.

sunset over jeremy creek

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joining heather at the E of O for just write
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shrimp boat sunsets HM

Uncover Laughter

laughing sister

May you give laughter away today.
Gift it.
To someone.
And may it be given back to you.
Uncovered from the cold blanket of grief
And sorrow.
Set free to soar
Released to heal.

May you give laughter away today.
Hand it to the hurting.
Bellow from your belly
Into a world in pain.

May you grab a sister by the hand
And know the sweet sweet joy
Anew after a long cold season
When it seemed to hide
Buried under mounds of circumstance.

Bring the gift
Receive the gift
Embrace the gift

Long, loud, lovely

Laughter

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Joining Still Saturday and Deidra Riggs for The Sunday Community at Deidra Riggs dot com

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