For some there comes a time when a second chance is given.That time then becomes a celebration of the unrecognized gifts of the past and humble gratitude for the wonder of present.
This then is a collection of reflections and comments on life,work,love and faith to be sung ,and danced to, in thanksgiving for a second chance.
Then
there was the time the pilgrim was trying to reach out to old friends and
anyone who might want to listen. There were stories about the illumination of
how perfection is not attainable and parables about how busyness does not mean
happiness ready to explode from within. He had rolled the dice and found
himself singing to himself and writing reflections, lyrics to songs and poems
only he would hear or read. It seems simpatico spirits had either made an early
departure or were preoccupied with
their own searching sojourns.
He
sat soothed by the sea softly swaying as soaring gulls swept just above the
waves with the sun soaking every satisfied soul that savored the sacred serenity
of the hymns of the silence. The clouds blew away. Another season about to
change once again. The oft dreamed about distance grew nearer. Safe harbors
departed. Concern about that which
lies beyond the horizon evaporates. Regrets and receipts of fares paid of
yesterday are logged, stored and shelved. The voice of quiet one echoed
“ its
a game, sometimes your cool, sometimes your lame.”
Then
he remembered how in the great book even the Sons of Thunder were chastised for
wanting the beat the crap out of those who closed their hearts and minds. Gratefully
smiling he returned to that which was burning within singing “That’s the way
goes”
“For what shall it profit a
man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?”
Mark 8:36-37
There
they were unpacking remnants of memories; posters, paintings, cd’s, vinyl
records, books and more books and loads of glass and cup coasters. There were
so many coasters from so many places and so many events and so many
remembrances. Some were square,some round, some stone, some wood and even a few leather ones.There
were probably as many coasters as there were glasses, mugs and cups to be
unpacked!
Another
dilemma, ”which coasters to save and which one’s to discard?” There is limited
space in the new safe harbor home. ”Too many coasters”, she proclaimed. “ It is
time to sort through this abundance of stuff”, she added. Self-righteously he
retorted,“ You can’t just get rid of memories. These are treasures. ”
Stalemate.
The
two concurred to retreat to the beach as a getaway and for some sort of sacred
discernment about sorting and unloading . The sand, surf and sun sometimes
provide relief if not answers. Usually there is just a lot of sun and sand and
nothing more on these retreats. But, at this point in their move to the next
chapter they believed, “what have we got to lose?!”
Mysteriously
without warning or anticipation a friendly storm worn face appeared near the shores
of salvation . It was friend from another lifetime when he and his companion
had first set out on their odyssey together. Just seeing this face of a woman and hearing her voice fueled the furious flames of memories . Hugs and kisses
were followed by her sober stories woven with tragedy and redemption. That
sandy storm of the century had completely demolished everything that this
friend and her family possessed on their piece of paradise on their island in
the stream. A distant voice confirmed to the pilgrim that if there was to be a
survivor it would be this good friend. Her things were washed forever but not
her love, her faith or her memories.
This
meandering pilgrim was one known for never lacking in words and yet he was
speechless. He wanted to say how sorry he was for his old friend’s troubles. He
wanted to say something about how if there was anything she needed that he
would do what he could for her and her family. But, by her demeanor andsoul-filled inner strength he knew that
she needed nothing of what he could provide save asilent prayer. He wanted to tell her how grateful he was
that she and her family was safe and well andhow he was grateful to see her again.
But
there was only a sweet simple silence.
A
brief exchange of semi-genuine promises to stay connected concluded the
encounter and just as mysteriously the old friend was gone from sight. He
wondered “Was she real? What just happened?” as he and his companion retired
from the sands of time to their new chapter home.
The
sun went down and rose again as it does consistently. The new day brought a
summoned local plumber to repair this and that at the new place as the two
continued their bickering about what needed disposal and what really needed to
remain. As the plumber wrenched the problem away he echoed a journey similar to
the one the two had heard the day before. It wasn’t déjà vu but it was a close
second. The man recalled how his home had been washed away by that great storm
that had devastated the home of the couple’s friend. No photo albums, no family
heirlooms, no furniture or rooms where his wife, children and even
grandchildren had lived and celebrated a multiple of fond occasions had
survived the great storm.
“All
I had left was my truck and my job” the plumber said with a prideful bitterness
“but it didn’t destroy my memories or my hopes and dreams. It will cost
everything I have and more to start over again. But it’s only money and it is
only things, right? ” He continued and shared how a 1,000 homes on the mystic
island had been lost.A1,000 homes of 1,000 families with a
million memories. “I am one of the lucky ones.”Witha
heartfelt wish to the two for “good luck and good health” this fixer’s spirit
disappeared offsomewhere into the
unknown horizon.
The
pilgrim’s contemplation “Was this fixer and old friend angels or coincidences?”
Sitting
somberly the eyes welled up as the pilgrim reflected on his concern for things
and attachments. The debate about salvaging coasters and memories seemed supercilious
as he humbly grabbed for an empty box.
“Coincidence is God's way of
remaining anonymous.”
