I stayed up late last night piecing together ancient memory for my eventual best seller.
It nearly wore me out recalling the chaos I was born to: I so wanted to cradle my poor broken parents and my beloved brother in my arms. They all passed far too young. I am out-living everyone, except for my Brother John, first born of my mother, of her first marriage.
I didn’t meet her three children until I was twenty-six. For the eldest and the youngest of my new half siblings, John and Sylvia, it was an immediate love match; for Robert, the middle child it was merely another painful experience. So painful that he had a “me or them” attitude walked away from his own birth family. A painful reminder of the healing forgiveness can truly give, not to mention the fun Today it’s me, John, our sister’s three sons and my two children who march on.
For decades I have maintained a morning kick-start after performing my ablutions: I read something inspirational, something that will give me a thought to consider for the day. Sometimes it blasts me in the face, like today: I picked up my copy of Mala of the Heart, a wonderful collection of contemporary and ancient poetry. I blind-opened it to a page with a piece by St. Teresa of Avila worthy of consideration today:
We bloomed in spring.
Our bodies are the leaves of God.
The apparent seasons of life and death
our eyes can suffer;
but our souls, dear, I will just say this forthright:
they are God Himself,
we will never perish
St. Teresa of Avila
Today is Veteran’s Day. I clicked the television on to see if there was anything interesting in the usual blither and yukking it up of our self-styled “news entertainers”. Today I was rewarded with an interview celebrating the life and bravery, of an inspirational veteran. He is truly the example of Hero, and although I can’t recall his name, I will never forget him, for he is the person I would like to become.
This Son of America was injured in our recent messes of war. He and his comrades survived an IED, though his once handsome face was a shambles. A husband and father, he returned home with horrific injuries to his body, but not to his soul.
Over time, countless facial surgeries restored his features as his little ones grew up and accepted each change in Daddy’s appearance. His eyes, clearly the portal to his soul are captivating. He is our future in many ways. All we have to do is follow his path: bind our wounds.
This sounds simple, but it is a colossal stretch for those who don’t yet comprehend that we can change our life, simply by changing our mind. It doesn’t appear that any of my birth family had a sense of this truth, Early in my childhood I found that I could shift my attitude to what was going on in my world: I did not have to believe what appeared to be truth.