Hope Like a Soft Flame

Most people don’t know there are angels whose only job is to make sure
you don’t get too comfortable & fall asleep & miss your life.
~ Brian Andreas (Angels of Mercy)
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I have the above Brian Andreas gem framed. Gotta tell ya, my Angels of Mercy (as he calls them) have been working overtime. Blessedly, in tandem with Angels who show up to carry me forward. I posted that remark on Facebook and a friend commented I had a great attitude. It requires constant self-talk. . .and angels who show up when I need them, I told her. Which indeed happens often. In fact, this week an offer of tech help came that left me quivering with Gratitude. But honestly, some days it’s just downright hard. I can’t take my eyes from the places in my life where it hurts, and I get overwhelmed or cranky. I have to talk myself up a dozen times on those days.

Today I’ve felt afresh the grief over my son so far away in Taiwan. Christmas is days away, and I have a Christmas card from the most sparkly little boy in the whole wide world, but not one note from his father (my son) who’s been the one I’ve loved the most forever. There’s a poem by Gwen Flowers that ends “. . . grief is not something you complete, /But rather, you endure./ Grief is not a task to finish/ And move on, /But an element of yourself -/ An alteration of your being./ A new way of seeing./ A new definition of self.”  I know how fortunate I am, and I feel the alteration of my being all over again right now.

So, tonight I decided to think about birdbaths I’ll set up in New Mexico. I always had them when we lived there. Two simple large terracotta-colored plastic dishes that were easy to tip for cleaning. A double-fist sized river rock in the middle of each to keep the wind from blowing it away. One sat off the ground on a pedestal, the other close to the ground on a cinderblock. We had floor to ceiling windows across the front of our first home. I spent hours watching the sky and birds thru those windows. Sometimes lying in the sun on the slate floor laid as passive solar. I saw mountain bluebirds lined along the dish rims. Hawks atop the rock in the middle. Jackrabbits and bunnies in mixed company on their haunches, shoulder to shoulder, drinking during a drought.

At another home I watched birds visit our side-yard from my desk, and once saw a cat fly. really  The bath was 20 ft. from a fence, where I was sure the birdies were safe, having plenty of time to fly if anything came near. One quiet summer afternoon, I watched in reverie for long minutes as a titmouse drank and bathed. Then, BAM, cat FLEW from the top of the fence, snatched it. Just like that, too. Immense, drawn-out quiet to startling BAM that left me stunned. Like a needle on a record that skids off the notes of a beautiful song.

In fact, a needle that skids off the notes could describe a theme in my life these past few years. In all the music of blessings and awarenesses, beauty, growth, & gained wisdom. With all the angels, seen and unseen, and travels of body & soul. The yank of the needle from the groove. Strangely, seeing it this way somehow lifts my spirits.

Because, by golly, I’m taking that scratchy record off, letting my Soul choose the next suite of music for my life. I know some parts will hurt, but as I type this, I feel Hope blooming in my chest like a soft flame. Filling me gently like plush petals. And it feels good. Very good. Even knowing there’s no guarantees and my work in the broader world just got bigger.

Another small journey. Getting to Wise.
A Writer’s Life.

Tell me. . .what gives you Hope in this season.
I’ll tell you a secret. . .I seriously believe in Angels.