A Little Birdie Told Me

Darren and I were sitting in Outback Steak House at Lake Nona weeks ago. My seat faced the side of the building with windows shadowed by some type of screening. The view was not the same as looking through clear glass. Instead, it was more like a colored shadow. We were talking when a movement outside the corner window caught my eye, and I realized a small cardinal was  periodically pecking at the window. At least that's what I first thought. After awhile, I understood the bird was trying to fly through the window and kept hitting the glass wall. I gave up on the bird when the blue cheese salad wedge arrived, and soon got lost in medium rare steak and brown bread.

Darren and I were, again, at Outback the other night, but this time, we sat in the booth by the corner window. Shortly after sitting down, I heard a slight noise and looked out the window. Weeks after my first sighting, a small cardinal, I'm sure it must have been the same one, was flying at the window over and over trying to get inside. Unbelievable! That little, red bird NEVER gave up. Well, it did finally leave for a short time during dinner, but before I had eaten my last bite of brown bread and butter, it came back and, peck!

I've thought of that bird often this week. Unfortunately, it reminds me of myself at times, and humanity in general. What's up with our continuous window ramming, even when it should be evident it's not working?
People are coming and going through open doors just a few feet down. Maybe it's not about getting inside. Maybe our brains become so addled from the whip lashings, we forget there are other important and even wonderful things we could be doing such as flying. That would be nice, but nope! We just keep flying into glass walls, addicted to the pain. I've always wanted to say this, "need I say more?"

In case I don't write again before Sunday, have a very Merry Christmas! Fly little birdies! Fly!

When I was a child, I spoke like a  child. I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; when I became an adult, I put away childish ways. For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then we will see face to face.

I Corinthians 13: 11-12

Peace. Love, Linda

Look to the Light

There's a picture in my mind, and I'm sure it's not just my vision alone. It's a dark night on a two-lane country road. The air is sleet-frosty. The pavement is slick. It's black everywhere, but the headlights of the car cast light on the shoulder of the road and create shadows on a mystical forest. A sharp curve ahead causes the car to slow down a bit when out of the mystical forest leaps a deer. It lands in the middle of the road on four light feet and freezes, not because it's cold, but because it looks to the headlights of the car. Cut. 

Scene two. Long brown hair flies and bare feet pat across the wooden floor. Bella runs through the living room into the dark bedroom towards the bathroom. With a rapid fire click she passes the light switch and baths the dark bedroom in light and passes through the bathroom door. Click. The light goes on in the dressing area. Click. The light turns on in the "water closet". Flush. She's up and running back into the living room racing to see the last fifteen minutes of a Sponge Bob Square Pants she has memorized, leaving a wake of light in her path. Light floods the house so quickly no one even  bothers to discuss fear of darkness. When you're six, it's just about problem solved. Lights on.

It's 7:40AM and the car, headed for Midtown Cycles, pulls into the lakefront parking lot. I jump out for a quick picture. Something has drawn me off the routine path to work. It's the morning light. It slants across Lake Toho making all things in its path appear surreal. The world in 3D glows and all creatures are outlined in brilliance. I take a few quick shots, hoping at least one of them is decent, get back into the car and head to the shop. Light floods the earth. Flood lights.

The days are shorter now, and I fall asleep earlier in the evening. I start counting the minutes down to the shortest day of the year, not with gloom because the days are getting shorter but with joy because we're almost over the hump of darkdom, an infusion of light is just around the corner. Lighten up!

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it. John 1:5

Peace. Love, Linda

Thoughts About Now

I like the fact that I write because I like to throw thoughts on a page and watch them run around dressed as words. I look at them differently adorned in shapely curves and cut off sticks, and such. Sometimes when they come out dressed in formal attire, I can see their lines clearly for the first time, and I recognize them as old business buddies of mine. Other times, they are friends I used to know but who are no longer close associates, but they still pop up every now and then. There are even times when I look at them, and I see complete strangers on the page. I wonder where they came from, but I don't ask. I just let them appear. Thoughts become words. That in itself is strange.

Tonight, and this morning on my way to work, I thought about my father-in-law who is living in the same house as he has lived in for thirty-five years, but he no longer lives in the same world. I want to put those thoughts into words. He's somewhere else and often with someone else. Sometimes he talks to his hat, and he loves to wear skirts and ties together with or without pants. It's very sad because we make it sad, but if "now" is all we have, and his "now" is then or some other time and place, I just want to say, what's that all about, and why does it have to be sad? I wonder why we've created a world where we just can't "roll with it" more often than not. There are deeper thoughts inside these thoughts, but they didn't want to come out tonight and dance across the page. They don't feel like dancing because they just got a little sad.

The Lord sets the prisoners free; the Lord opens the eyes of the blind. The Lord lifts up those who are bowed down; the Lord loves the righteous. The Lord watches over strangers; he upholds the orphan and the widows.  Psalms 146: 8-9
Peace. Love, Linda