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I once heard a story about a golden Buddha statue designed in the 13th-14th century, which was covered in stucco. It was kept in that state and forgotten for almost 200 years and housed in a building with a tin roof. A new temple was built in 1955, where the Buddha was to be placed. During the move to the new location it fell hard on the ground. The fall caused the stucco to crack, revealing the hidden gold underneath. The golden statue had been covered over to prevent it from being stolen, as its worth was close to 250 million dollars. This remarkable piece is on display in a temple built for it.
The image of a stucco Buddha, is one that can be overlooked and dismissed. The texture is rough, hard and brittle and is not appealing to the eye. In this case it was used to cover and hide the priceless work of art and perhaps the spirit within. One cannot dismiss the metaphor in this historical find. How often do we walk around hidden inside our stucco, not realizing the gold underneath? Our creator crafted us from the finest material, in her image, yet there is a rough, harden exterior that conceals our beauty. The stucco of life is often layers lies, rejection, abandonment, abuse, and victimization by others; until there is no memory of the precious one. Some never “fall” or “see” what is enclosed deep within, but stay within the tin building, so fragile and weak, yet feeling safety. A few topple and fall hard. One who has fallen and cracks, fearing death, or worse exposure, discovers the truth. What lies underneath, has been there all along, the priceless, original creation; the golden one. The journey to find this golden one requires companions who carry, support and love the hard, rough, stucco exterior until one day the golden self is on display, in all its glory.
She returns to her familiar feeder and finds it empty,
her red beak and sleek body, longing for nourishment so sparse in winter.
Will she move on to other feeding grounds?
Will she trust in the giver of seed to once again provide so she returns to
her well-known source?
She has a knowing that her Creator will show her the way and supply all of
her needs.
Her companions are not unnoticed by her, as they rest atop the roof.
Four doves, where once there were two.
Their soft purr speak of care and dependence, as they keep a watchful eye
on their beloved,
without fear or despair, they perch peacefully where wings fly.
A new relationship offers excitement, risk, and the possibility for something new to expand within,
Often found in the most common ways.
Shiny black paint, smooth leather, and two chrome wheels,
this unnamed beauty calls for such an experience.
Wooed by her invitation,
captivated by the promise of desire fulfilled,
I surrender to her charm.
She does not disappoint as I sit astride her brown, soft seat,
turn her throttle and she sings of adventure, freedom, and companionship unknown to me.
Oh the wind!
Pushing against us, daring us to move faster, to risk more
and we do.
Exhilaration!
We share symbiotic motion, choosing each turn together as one.
We will risk and seek open roads, laugh, trust, and be present to one another,
on this journey unexplored.
Carpe Diem!
The chrysalis opens that once was a hiding place,
safe and protected.
where beauty and desire stayed locked in darkness,
waiting.
Color longing to burst into air,
and offer itself to the universe.
Struggling to be free from the womb, whose time has past,
uncertain of a birthing,
nature runs its course with painstaking effort and
brilliance appears like a finished canvas after years of labor.
Creative and free,
wild and deep,
light and at home,
Fly!
Whispers of children anticipating and planning a celebration.
My ears delight in sweet voices,
full of wonder and love.
Voices speak of teddy bears and bunnies,
soft blankets like their own and a birthday box to hold it all.
My heart melts as I listen,
hanging on every word that passes through the monitor from their bedroom,
knowing that this moment will be hidden in my heart and mind forever.
Cool on my cheek and gently blowing away thoughts of the day,
the season shows its face.
Stepping on gold, red, and brown like a pathway on the cement,
while blue rests above with brilliant light.
Nature is at work,
preparing for change with gentle transitions,
as she awakens her participants and clears the air for a new day.
Come to the table just as you are,
addicted, grieving, broken, hopeless, traumatized, with mental illness, lonely and isolated,
come to the table.
Hearts of compassion and acceptance meet you,
Ears hear the depths of your pain,
Eyes see who you are,
Bread of community is shared and what was once hidden,
is illuminated, embraced, and gently felt.
Come to the table of love, where hope is restored and brothers and sisters bear the load.
The voice of a songbird an ear has never heard,
fills the sky with sweet possibilities.
She calls out to the air and her song is clear and full,
surprising the listener.
Notes of delight,
being,
present,
a song that must be sung because
She is a bird.
My son published his first book recently and gave me a signed copy with the words, “For mom, whose faith is the inspiration for my own”. I desire to leave this legacy for my family, yet faith often alludes me and I find myself falling short where I most want to grow. This is when the Divine reminds me I am not the source of faith, He set that in motion when I was very young. I can remember my first experience with my Creator. Lying in bed one night, I looked out the window and my little heart burst at the vision before me. The night sky was filled with brilliant light, thousands of stars and a moon that I knew was bigger than my house. I recall staying at the window and allowing this display to soak into me, feeling so small and insignificant. What followed this was a thought that “I was created!” Somehow my soul felt connected to the scene before me and the Creator. Questions flooded my mind like “what if I had never been born, how did He decide to create me?” My journey of faith began that night, which was a compass in the chaos I grew up in. A seed of faith was planted and grew into a longing over the years. A longing for more than I could see, a knowing that Someone bigger and greater than I could imagine, set the stars and the galaxy into place. Did He see me? Know me? Love me with all of my imperfections and doubts?
I have faith that when I wake up in the morning I will have air to breathe. I trust without any thought that I will see birds and trees and grass when I walk into my back yard. I also trust that my favorite grocery store will have all I need for meals I want to cook. I can go about my daily routine with no concerns about these constants in life. Just when I feel like I can confidently say I am a person of faith,a circumstance arises where I am reminded why faith is so difficult and at the same time necessary.
I went with a friend recently, to the Garfield Observatory in Chicago. After parking the car we walked toward the entrance where two men stopped us and began asking questions; “Did you hear about the toddler who was murdered at the lagoon? I guess they found a foot last night and a head this morning. What is your reaction to this? Can we record it?” I was speechless and sickened. This is not supposed to happen to an innocent child. Here lies the struggle,when circumstances like this horrific tragedy happen it’s too much to bear. The harshness of the world and its evil like the news of Syrian children losing their lives while searching for a better life, or young black men and women fearing violence at the hands of their own or those sworn to protect them, or churches turning their backs on those who have found love from same-sex relationships; these realities and more create doubts and questions about a Divine Presence in the world. My own loss and grief over the past fifty-three years has often caused me to ask the same questions of the Creator; “why did you allow this, why didn’t you intervene, where are you, do you care?”
There is no possible explanation to satisfy the incomprehensible evils of the world or the questions that seem to deserve an answer. There is no comfort in hearing words like, just have faith. In fact, I find more comfort in knowing I do not have answers. I cannot restore what has been lost and am content to remain in that place of unknowing today, because there is something greater than any unanswered question I might have; hope. Without hope there is no faith, all is lost and meaningless. The violent death of that innocent baby has no redemption. Faith is hope and confidence that, what I cannot explain or see today remains in the hands of a God who sees and knows the answers. I have faith that He will bring meaning and will redeem the broken and evil things of this earth. He loves His creation and is near to the brokenhearted and weeps with those who weep. I am the instrument of this hope. I can choose to turn away from hate and violence and be one who loves and trusts. One who offers compassion and gentleness to broken and angry people. I am small and seemingly insignificant, but the One who hung the stars and moon is huge, bigger than many houses.
He is writing my story, with many unexpected twists and turns, some filled with delight that have taken my breath away and others that have been like a punch in the gut. When my story is complete I would like this inscription written to my sons, daughters, and grandchildren; “Look at the stars and moon, they speak to a Creator big enough to put your faith in. He created you and loves you. He knows your name. He created you for a purpose. Trust Him when you cannot see, He is a God of redemption.”
The Unmaking 