The potential of flight

I'm huddled here on the edge of the picnic blanket ("huddled" just because I'm sharing it with three sprawling children) under the ligustrum, half-listening to childish chatter, marveling at a perfect specimen of florida weather, watching the flying things. It's always the flying things that bring me back to life. Sometimes at my most despairing, just seeing a butterfly lifts my heart. It's because I think He sends them to me constantly as messengers. They tell me, first of all, that He's thinking of me, and second of all, that I too will take flight because I'm meant to.

After our walk, I came in and danced with my son while the girls were in the bath. He always asks me to dance when the music is on by putting his hand in mine as I hold him. And I remembered what I had on my tongue yesterday: God's very Body, and what I had in my throat: His Blood. And I know I will continue to be fed, and satisfied, as with the richest of foods, even after this beautiful flash in the pan. But I won't denigrate for its brevity the brilliance and color of its light. I won't downplay because it's it's own thing the unique, delicious taste of this feast prepared before me, in the presence of my enemies. It's real and in my heart forever. I know now God put it there, and it's beautiful with a Beauty it alone has, and mine. I won't ever do this play again with these people. I've never been good at letting go. The passage of time has a poignance that hurts me.

But I know He will reveal himself to me again as he did these last two months. I see him with his wings folded there in the dark and I see their colors, black and navy and colors without names, only radiance and mystery and beauty. He's perching there. He will unfurl his glory, and I will see it.

(2011)