Words On A Page

“Quickly humbled to her knees, she placed her hand on the side of his wet face, calling forth every ounce of love she possessed to the surface of her hazel eyes that he might look and see the place he held in her heart to be seen and to be safe. A nod of his head and those eyes shifted to his crying sister who, without notice, slammed her young body into the only welcoming arms she could find, unaware of the mucus now covering more than just her own lips and cheeks. Beside them, another child sat on the couch, unfazed, requesting a lighter to burn the tag off her new Easter shoes, while the oldest of the four walked about collecting clothes and meeting the angry demands of a half-aware mom. Outside, a young man called for the absent father, masking his drink of choice with a crumpled up McDonald’s brown paper bag.

This is where she found herself Easter morning - down on her knees in her Sunday dress, declaring the light of the world, the hope of a risen Savior, through soft spoken words, gentle eyes, and the taste of another’s runny nose in her mouth. Here, in this dark pit these four lives called ‘home,’ she had entered in, standing on the belief that when the light comes in the darkness must flee.”

Words on a page.

Real life: A thousand questions ran through my mind as I waited in that house. “How do I comfort them? How can I keep them safe? Is the man outside okay? He was harmless when we talked to him. Where do I find a lighter? How does this zipper work? My knees hurt. It’s fine. What can I do to make them smile? How do I answer mom’s questions? Okay, snot in my mouth. Are we late for church already? Why is she yelling? Should we put on the shoe here or in the car? I’ll just hold her for a minute. Am I dressed too nice to be here? What am I doing? Can I change this? Okay, we’re ready, shoe is being put on in the car.”

That’s what it was. Twenty minutes of questions and decisions made in the mind of 22-year-old me. At one point, the youngest child was crying in my arms with her face pressed against mine when the mom yelled, “Who’s crying?! Tell me who is crying and why they are crying.” I froze. What do I say? She can’t see us and she’s half asleep but I bet she already knows. Should I say anything? None of the kids are saying anything. If I tell her who it is then she won’t let her come. She’s asking again. Silence isn’t working. I need to say something. “I think I accidentally stepped on her toe.” Immediately, the child left my arms to go put on her clothes while her sister looked up at me and grinned. I winked at her but on the inside I wondered. I had lied. Was that the right thing to do? Probably not. But mom said nothing after that and five minutes later we were out the door.

If we wait for the perfect beginning our end will come and nothing will have changed. Adventure is marked by the unknown and discovery of it - what a thrilling experience that must be!

Words on a page.

Real life: the unknown is unknown for a reason. To discover it is to walk into a dark room and feel around for the switch only to realize this is no room but a pit, and the only way of bringing out what’s inside is to stay long enough to get used to the dark. You will trip, you will fall, you will bang your head against objects you didn’t even know to beware of. It’s unfair and a fools game really. That is, if going after something without the assurance of desired results is foolish.

Most people spend their lives tiptoeing around these pits to arrive safely at death's door - an end we will all one day face. The question is: will you arrive unscathed? Or will your scars match the mark you made on the world by your courage to discover?