Heaven's Messengers

On a glorious St. Patrick's Day morning, I settled down with my coffee and newspaper. Right off, I found a tale about a man whose life is as strange as any leprechaun’s. Instead of guarding a pot of gold, he is the protector and caretaker of the Pilgrim Virgin Statue of Our Lady of Fatima, Portugal. For 14 years, he has been accompanying her on a pilgrimage around the world.

I read in the paper that the statue was at The Grotto, just a few blocks from my house. It could be seen between the hours of 8 AM and 12 noon. I looked at my watch 10:45! I threw down my paper and put on my coat. Fifteen minutes later I was in line.

MEETING THE PILGRIM VIRGIN STATUE AT THE GROTTO
Standing in the line were folks just like me
who had read about the statue
over their morning coffee.
We marveled at the statue's journey
and the dedication of the man
who had devoted 14 years to being its right hand.

Carl himself came to greet us
passing out small books
dressed in a fine grey suit,
he had the proper guardian look.

He said, "If you do not want to wait
you can come into the chapel
take a pew and meditate."

That was not for us.
We had come to see
up close and personal,
the image of the Lady
first glimpsed atop a tree.

The same one Lucia saw
nothing less would do.
We might even see the statue smile
or shed a tear or two.

I wondered who had guided the carver's hand
to make the statue's face so true
to Lucia's vision of the Lady
she once knew.

Did some angel whisper in the carver's ear,
"a little less there, a little more here".
Was the mahogany destined from the start
to become Our Lady's statue,
not some simple piece of art.

When my turn came to see the statue
I felt a moment's shame.
Where I had come in curiosity
the statue looked on me
as if she knew my name.

I wondered if Our Lady
might have some message just for me.
I listened, but no word I heard
no vision did I see.

I yielded my place at the altar
to the person next in line,
but as I left the chapel
a thought came into my mnd.

The statue in the church,
the vision in the tree,
our Savior on the cross,
become the lens through which we see.

God has wisdom that freely He'll impart
but first we must clear our eyes
and purify our hearts.

I pondered what would happen
if all those in line
from Maine to Madagascar
took a moment's time
to heed the call for faith,
sacrifice and love.
Perhaps then shouts of joy
would be heard from heaven above.

Could our "me first" generation
put their wants aside,
to lift another's burden
and put away their pride?

Are we ready to stop bloodshed,
to erase hunger and pain,
to sacrifice our wealth
with no thought of power or gain,
but simply because it's right,
the thing we need to do
to bring peace to all God's children
including me and you.

If such were to happen,
it might mean struggle and trial
but then maybe, like Lucia,
we would see Our Lady smile.

Second Thoughts re: Matters of the Heart

Forgive me, my children, for an old woman’s view
What was right for me may be wrong for you.

Love that lifts and lasts
Has carried many through
But in fairness you should understand
The reverse is also true.

When you give your heart,
You also give its key
How that key is used will guide your destiny.

Whoever holds the key holds power over you.
So if you think “you’re in love”
Take a moment or two.
If you see the one you love treat others with disdain
Show them abuse, careless of their pain
Know that one day, when the flush of love is through
He/she may be just as cruel to you.

Hookups may be easier after all,
No stuff in the closet, not so far to fall.
Better than to struggle with a harpoon in your heart
Trying to get free, to make a brand new start.

Making new starts, of course, is what we have to do
Broken hearts will mend, and may be stronger too.

Still finding love may sometimes feel like swimming with the sharks
Danger fills that sweet caress stolen in the dark.
Do those eyes that hold yours
Mean you’ve found a love that’s true
Or simply that it’s meal time,
And on the menu now is you.

An old adage says “to your own heart be true”,
And that may be the best way
To find the love just right for you.

A Word of Explantion re: Today's Poem

"Hookups" I am told are now the "norm" for young people. The term suggests mechanical coupling not unlike a workout at the gym. Experiencing sex for selfish indulgence, seems to me a dangerous practice.

Not only does it put one’s body at risk, casual sex trivializes human connection. Men and women alike become objects of pleasure, to be used and discarded. Hearts become hardened. Once your heart is hardened, you may be less likely to be hurt, but you are also less open to love.

As a woman of some years, I'm here to tell you that although sex is great, love is better. It is not defined by a bodily act; it engages all of the human spirit. It transforms lives. It is the wind that drives the sail and will carry you and your loved ones safely through the most perilous seas.

However, such love is not for everyone. It is only for indivuals willing to hold fast to the rudder. If you are unwilling to do that; if sacrifice for love seems alien to you - hookups may be best. Tumble weeds, after all, need no rudder; free of roots they are driven by the wind.

Hooking Up

Love they say is obsolete
Emotions are a bore.
“Hooking up” is all we need
A tumble on the floor.

You may call me 13
I shall call you 24.
No names are needed when we hook
Just numbers to keep score.

You shall bring the condom
I will take my pill,
We’ll be each other’s ”little ipod”
Finding our own thrill.

Still there may be a complication
For couples linking parts.
Some may have a problem
Keeping out their beating hearts.

Once the heart starts beating
Your vision changes, too,
You may see the other person,
A perfect match for you.

No longer do you want to share
You want to be the “one”
Not for just a day or two,
But with every rising sun.

It is a flaw in our design.
No matter how we train our parts,
Emotions still will make us prey
To gambles of the heart.

First Blossoms

I saw him from my window
A robin on the limb
Looking out across my yard
Stretching neck and wing.

He cocked his head
As if to prove his vision had been right,
Pink blossoms on the cherry tree
Had been no trick of light.

You see, spring arrived this morning
For everyone to see
Me from inside my window
The robin in the tree.

I thought to catch the moment
Camera in my hand
But when I approached, the robin flew
And alone, I was left to stand

Drinking in the beauty of blossoms in the sun
Savoring the sweetness of Springtime just begun.

What's It All About?

What is truth? -- the question of the ages. Someone told me the answer yesterday. It did not come from the pulpit, or for some renowned scholar or philosopher.

The message was delivered by a young man I watched grow up across the street. He was a good boy, although I never thought him particularly wise. He took good care of his family. When his mother’s robe caught fire, causing severe burning, he looked after her for several months. When his sister suffered from ovarian cancer, he cared for her too, as he did for his father when lung cancer struck.

He worked 24/7 days a week to establish “Cruisers”, a restaurant in SE Portland. The restaurant was a success, but Carl wanted more. He flew to Honduras to find his bride, Maria. He brought her to Portland, bought a fine home, and fathered two beautiful children, now aged 4 and 5.

He is now in his early fifties. What makes him an expert about life? How is he different from you or me? He is not. It is simply that he understands what many of us do not.

About two months ago, Carl was diagnosed with cancer of the esophagus. It is in his lymph glands as well. Since he can no longer swallow, a feeding tube has been inserted in his stomach. If he chooses to eat for the pleasure it gives, he must spit out what he chews. Anything that goes down comes right back up. He is beginning chemo therapy. If it works he may have as long as a year to live. His life has become a round of visiting nurses and doctor appointments.

So what was it that he told me? Amazingly, Carl is not devastated by his fate. He believes in a “loving God”. His trust is certain. Totally upbeat, he told me that “Faith is what it’s all about!”

I thought of the hucksters who tell us that with good looks, talent, wealth, fame, romance, travel, the latest ipod, etc., happiness is ours for the taking. Alas happiness is not that easy to obtain. Like the butterfly, happiness is elusive. It may flutter nearby, but fear or discontent will drive it away. When you are screaming in anger or crying in self pity, it is nowhere in sight.

However, for those who know Carl’s secret, the one he shared with me, happiness often settles softly on their shoulders. Faith in a loving God delivers peace to the soul, no matter what the situation and that is an important truth.

Feather On The Wind

Feather on the wind
Seashell on the shore……
What will people see
When I am here no more?

Footprint in my shoe,
Diamond ring I wore
Picture on the wall
Hair pin on the floor.

Will anybody read all those words I wrote?
Will anybody hear the plea within my note?

To be present in the light,
As a leaf upon the tree
Knowing sun and rain
And breezes blowing free.