Monday, May 2, 2011

Just Thinking

I should have stayed up after letting the dog out. But the sun was still snoozing, so I hopped back into bed. A couple hours later I awoke feeling drugged and scared. I'd had a bad dream (you know it's bad when the serial killer you've been trying to ditch is moving in next door to care for the woman who lives there and nobody but you knows he's a killer. Yikes!) that even a hot shower couldn't wash away. I should have leashed up Miss Suz and gone for a walk. I thought I'd read just one email and a few blogs then be on my way.

Of course the first thing I saw when my computer booted up was the scary face of America's Most Wanted who isn't wanted anymore. I breathe a sigh of relief that there is one less evil person in this world. I suspect there will be lots of news coverage of "civilized" Americans dancing in the streets. Somehow I can't bring myself to rejoice. All I can think of is that there is one more mother, or wife, or child who will be crying as they lay their head on a pillow tonight. Does that make me unAmerican? Does that make me less proud of the men and women who have died fighting a "war on terror" this man devised? I hope not. I hope it makes me more compassionate. Does bin Laden deserve my compassion? Hmmmm, I ask myself. Probably not. But if you pick and choose who you share your compassion with can you really call it compassion? I'm glad the long search is over. I'm glad there can (hopefully) be some kind of closure for those hit hardest by the man's scheming. But my heart needs to be able to forgive in order not to turn as rock hard and cold as the one just killed. I said forgive - not FORGET. And with the forgiving I put the judgement back in the hands of the Divine where it belongs.

Then I moved on to Pam's Blog where pink dogwood blossoms lightened my heart a little. May 2, 1892, was the day my grandmother was born into a family that already had 11 children. Her mom died when my Grandmother was little so she was raised in rural Tennessee by a host of countrified relatives. What seems like a miracle to me is that she grew into a strong, loving, educated woman. Her husband died early on in their marriage leaving Grandmother with two small boys to raise. Again, the relatives pitched in to see that the young ones were cared for when their mother needed help. She taught third grade in Newport TN Grammar School for 33 years, served in several capacities at her beloved Methodist church, was honored as Woman of the Year, and never remarried. She was one of the people my daddy spoke to as he neared the end of his life. As I said in a previous post, my Grandmother loved the Creator's gifts of nature. Red birds and dogwoods stand out in my memory as her favorites. The blood of a god-fearing, apple-pie sweet lady runs in my veins. Today I think of her and give thanks.

I began to ponder how images of Osama bib Laden and my Grandmother could run through my mind on parallel tracks, like a cartoon where the angel sits on one shoulder and the devil on the other. Could there possible be a connection? And if so, what could it be?

Perhaps the answer can be found over at AkasaWolfsong's blog. There is a hauntingly beautiful video I encourage you to go look at. The words are a prayer of sorts, called "The Word that is One."

In the beginning was the word
One Word, that gave rise to all things.
The Word was Truth...

I believe that in the beginning the Divine One blew a spark of life into each of us. Regardless of how we choose to kindle that flame - for good or for evil, it is there in our soul. It's easy to see the gift in a dogwood blossom, a baby's tiny footprint, or a grandmother's smile. Much harder to grasp when your teenager has just pierced his eyebrow, your mate has cheated on you or a lunatic with a gun has gone on a rampage. I'm not saying evil doesn't exist. But for me, evil is man-made; it does not come from the Creator. Somewhere, deep down inside us lies the smouldering spark of forgiveness that could, if given half a chance, give rise to a world at peace.

Easier preached than done? You betcha?

But how else can you explain the faces of love and hate that greeted me this morning?

Just thinking,
Merry ME

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