You will be a blessing, you will give and not take, you will be the head and not the tail, above and never under dog. You will be blest in the city and in the village, your arm like the sword of a mighty man.
(These lines up there might sound pretty high, but when it comes to you at a time when you need some reminders about being blest, it is like water on a thirsting day.If you’ve been there, you’ll get this).
The Preacher preached another half hour and there was a prayer that lifted any gloom in the room,with a sense of favour I had not experienced in a long time. A girl next to me in glittery brown sari sat weeping her heart out, I did not know what to sensibly do. After a few moments, I took her limp hand ; she did not pull away and my eyes filled. How close we all sat there, little knowing what was going on in people’s lives. How great we all looked, dressed in Sunday best, our creams and layers of crushed silk and nice nails. Inside there were stories no one may ever know.
There were some lilting songs and quiet moments – we stood up for a blessing. The sacred moment had not left. I remember the very first church I remember, and it was a fisher village. 3 pm. Blinking sleepy 3 pm but myMa wouldn’t hear of us not going to this village church, every one singing at the top of their voices in varieties of pitches and tunes, dressed in gaudy pinks and reds – oh ribbons and mustard oil slicked hair dripping down their shining skins also plastered with Ponds talcum powder or something. Maybe that’s when I fell in love so completely with sacred things like altars and long windows sometimes polished clean, sometimes little holes in mud walls, blazing with a riot of worship.
Maybe that’s where I first learnt to be very still and listen. To let what was obvious, melt with the invisible.
Yesterday morning I felt that way again after a long time. It was real. As real as the girl who wiped her tears and left me in silence, grateful that we had not spoken. Later yesterday there was a dinner and a young couple that dedicated their little baby. A mesh of quiet again. The child was born with Down’s Syndrome, but what a beautiful child. Balloons burst of their own accord now and then ; each time someone jumped( at the loud ‘ pop’ of bursting balloons) my daughter and I went into splits of laughter. Among the Quiet, the little bumpy balloons, thank you God. Thank you too for the Peace I saw in this young couples’ eyes. No anger, not even questions. They were all dressed so beautifully, gentle pastel shades. ” Did we eat well ? Was the biriyani good ? The Payasam?”
This morning, I had to put this mesh of words down and I know it must all sound random. A friend wrote in to say, ” Ray you are so emotional about everything. Looks like you’ve been thru’ a lot in life. ”
Another says they think I am a thinker. What can I say ? When I was very little I had this stammer and did not speak very much. Then I wrote with both hands and was a mess in school, till that got sorted out. What happened as a result, was I began to draw, and sing, also observe life. I watched my sisters grow into beautiful people, watched my parents be such awesome parents. My mother, this beautiful teacher, who could make roses out of discarded paper.. picnics out of an ordinary day. With the event of growing up, marriage, kids, love and work, so many beautiful secrets unfold, but we can take it for granted.
Maybe thats where I was again, yesterday. And yesterdays’ words have startled me into that childlike sense of wonder all over again. Forgive me if this sounds all over the place. It is, isn’t it?
Like Life. Beautiful, sweet rascal it is , Life. May you have it Beautiful too, and cherish the other bits. Have a beautiful week forever, girl in the glittery brown sari, and the rest of us 7 + billion. Yeah I know I’m a seriously emotional Emoticon:)))) , why not.
- “On Being Found” A Beautiful Story (todaysfreshmanna.wordpress.com)
- Finding Faith (leavingalegacyministries.wordpress.com)