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Sleep, one of the symptoms of my terminal illness, is shrink-wrapping my gift of twenty-four-hour living.
Your will, not mine, be done.
Another summer treat is the “Black Splendor” plum with bluish-black fruit and juicy beet-red flesh. Biting into its sweet tartness quickens the taste buds and sets them yearning for more. Other stone-centered fresh fruits have this similar reaction: the merging of two opposites, completely disimilar, yet one.
Would that the diverse peoples of the globe could assume this attitude toward one another. Such would displace rancor festering among the human family, restore the fulness of personhood, and reduce acts of violence. Life would have an untold richness, a prototype for Creator God’s desire for all the living.
This can happen, once awakened to the Sacred Law informing our Inwardness. The invisible shines forth in the midst of the visible. Deep joy spins swirls of togetherness as multi-colored oneness blossoms among the human family, like none other.
How deeply I would have liked to have known this truth when a younger woman. At least, I can practice in the time still allotted me.
This is it, I said to myself, closing the front door behind me. My cheeks flushed, my breathing quickened. The second look confirmed my decision to lease this two-bedroom bungalow, despite having no experience caring for a house, despite my seventy years of age. Now that I was retired, I needed a quiet place to finish my book. This was 2006.
But I looked around again. The space I could handle, but the rest of the brick bungalow was an eyesore: the appliances, old; the walls painted in the drab colors of nineteenth-century peasants, with the exception of cherry red for the dining room; the hardwood floors, were scuffed and stained where once carpet had lain; discolored blinds, some blades bent, covered the windows. The infrastructure also needed renovation, together with a new roof.
Mature shade trees and perennial flower beds enhanced the exterior, however. Still, I heard myself say, “This is it!”
And the bungalow still is. Everything about it was a challenge from God: to replace the unlovely with beauty; to seek contractors for major repairs; to learn how to care for my bungalow until I’d arranged a circle of helpers. Every room contains multiple stories and when put together, express the woman I have become and who has actualized much of her birthright, before making my transition.
With the renovation of my bungalow complete; with my closets and drawers largely emptied, save for what I’m actually using; with my on-going psychic work protected with solitude and silence; with the bare minimum of loving helpers, most days, I feel deeply content and grateful for new growth. And my simple bungalow serves admirably as the container: God’s preeminent gift.
What could He have in store for me? For all of us?
Heart Whisperings 