Saturday, November 30, 2013

a constant intercessor before you

No longer forsaken and hated, with no one passing through,
Now I will make you the pride of the ages, a joy from generation to generation.
You shall suck the milk of nations, and be nursed at royal breasts;
No longer shall violence be heard of in your land, or plunder and ruin within your borders.

My family sat around the Thanksgiving dinner table, the light in our kitchen was reflecting off the warm yellow walls, and shining through the wine glasses, darting off the cream table cloth.
Through the dazzling light, I looked across at my younger siblings, the most glorious human beings I know.
Possibly because I was first introduced to them just hours after they entered the world.
When my mom guided my hand to her stomach, I could feel them kick along with her.
I fished coins and small Lego pieces out of their little toddler hands, I helped them learn to walk, and I picked them up when they overcame the baby gate, and tumbled down the stairs.
And now, they are all of them smarter than I, shining like little suns, hilarious, strong-willed, and articulate.
I asked my mother how difficult it is to make a human being but not to mold a person in your own image and likeness.
She pulled out one of her stock modest and wise answers, with a demure smile that doesn't explicitly say: you'll understand someday; but I know that's what's implied.
My curious mind demands to know how things work, how people tick.
Frustratingly, it is often confounded by mystery.

I looked up at the starry rafters, finding that the angels and saints were singing in tune with the music.
I sat in the back of my adoration chapel, writing down a list of blessings.
I found myself sitting next to a large, glossy, Barnes and Noble coffee table book of John Paul II. I wanted to pick up John Paul, and peek inside the book, but I refrained.

I half-lounged at my kitchen table, head-bobbing, chair-dancing, and singing along with Tina Arena's crooning:  Not long agoo I got to knowwww my loneeely sidee//Just me and my pain with no where to hiiddeeeee.
My sister's kitten entwined herself between my legs, mewing loudly, begging for breakfast. Unsure of how much paté to serve her, I ignored her, insisting I didn't know how to feed her. She pawed insistently at my leggings, and opened her little pink mouth wide, to show off her sharp little whites, and little pink tongue, eager to lap up her dish of food.
So I opened up the can and guesstimated how much food to give her.
She plopped down on her regal haunches and started to eat.
I bumbled around the kitchen, trying to find the leftover French Silk Pie, hindered by a kitty rubbing up against my legs with purrs of gratitude.

I was searching for a book, and I found it in the emptiest spot. A spot I hadn't expected.
If only I'd attended more to you, I thought, I'd have found what I had been looking for.
I sat in a large, cozy chair, feeling tears I couldn't help streaming out of my eyes, embarrassingly.
But, I'd found a book. And that was a start.
Three things I hate:
losing things.
overlooking things.
tearing things.
But, in the end, I have found I've ended up being grateful for all three.


Our car DJ turned on Tip Toes, and I started dancing in my seat as I drove down I-494. The lights of the Mall and airport lit up the night sky, and I was riding in a wave of laughter and the music.


No longer shall the sun be your light by day, 
Nor shall the brightness of the moon give you light by night; 
No longer will your sun set, or your moon wane; 
For the Lord will be your light forever, 
--Isaiah 60:15-22

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