Silence

There is that moment when the world stops spinning

When the storm is passed

When you stand near the graves and listen to wind rustling the leaves on the corn...

And you wait, and are silent.

A Musical Journey...

Forgive the interlude...without going into the story behind it, I wanted to go on a YouTube journey down memory lane...memories of loved ones and life.

heaven

I had left my alarm on accidentally, and walking down the hall I heard this song playing softly:

Bless the Lord, oh my soul, oh my soul, worship His holy name
Sing like never before, oh my soul, worship His holy name...

Just that, and I turned the radio off and went about my business to the work at hand.

My cousin had tried calling, which was strange.  I think I was beginning to suspect...

So when my dad called some time later, I wasn't really that surprised.

And throughout that weekend at the hospital, this song held with me.  Just those two lines I had heard in the morning.  As I walked through the corridors to the parking garage where my car was waiting.  As held my grandma's hand and looked into her eyes.  As I sat in her quiet room and simply watched her sleep.

Not a constant song, but persistent.  Just when my mind began to wander, I would find the song was there.  Reminding.  And comforting.

So I'll share the song with you with a video I found on YouTube.

A preview of heaven?

Is heaven stiff formality?
                               Or is it the familiarity of being with friends?
That sense of belonging...
                               that feeling of home....

Is heaven all of us together before it was all broken...
                               each death a fissure in that complete, heartwarming ball?
A return to that togetherness with everyone safe and brought back home?

Is it mashed potatoes and company,
Voices and laughter near the heat of the stove...
Too many people at the table
Reaching and passing, talking and eating...
A cluster of mismatched chairs and recognizable voices
Old, familiar jokes
In a place that you know
And you know a place is yours.
When you walk into a room, the people know you
And you're at home
And you don't have to listen to the tick-tocking voices of the passing of time.
Grandpa grinning, in his element, as he pours flour and milk into his specialized concoction bubbling on the stove
Uncle waving a towel in front of the smoke detector as it goes off, yes, once again
And brother at the counter, feeding bread into the toaster, that loaf of bread becoming a veritable tower of golden-brown toast
And the voices, yes the voices
And then the family settles in.
An informal affair, and a seemingly limitless supply of a favorite family food
Grandpa's specialty...white gravy on toast.
And the best part is...this moment can last forever.
Not this particular moment...no, not like Groundhog Day, no, not that.
But the promise of tomorrow, of being able to get together to have that opportunity again, is forever.
And ever and ever.
Because there won't be any dying or watching loved ones around you begin to grow old.
There won't be any overnight catastrophes, visits by policemen, or loved ones left alone.

That, I believe, just might be my view on a little piece of heaven...

A poem for searching

Sometimes I miss the days when life fit neatly inside a bite-sized cardboard box.

It's not that my life ever did,

                                       but other people said it should,

                                                                            and I automatically assumed that, since
                                                                            people said it should,
                                                                            then, without question, it absolutely
                                                                            would...

I let myself be bound by fear and uncertainty, not wanting to risk getting the formula wrong.

I looked to them...

                                     teeny kitchen tables, tiny wooden drawers...

                                                               a dollhouse of mystery, a foundation of sand.

And when there comes shaking, that which is unstable inevitably crumbles.

And what is scary is that, in searching, I am not afraid of offending God

                                     I am only afraid of offending them...

                                                                they who purport to have so many answers.

Who never question, who never make mistakes.

A mythical communion of people...made up of thousands and millions of blurred out shaded faces.

Where will I be if I go where this is leading?

                                                                 I can see it on the horizon, quietly beckoning.

I can see it...but I'm afraid to move forward.

                                    Moving forward would mean turning my back on what I
believed must be

                                   Inherently safe.

And if I leave, that faceless multitude might then decide to judge me.

                                   Though, of course, that probably would never really happen.     I don't think....

But what of the others who have faced cries of heresy?