Vivid Recollections
DAWN (0-20yrs)
Crawling,
an open doorway
—hands grip the edge of wood.
Lifting, now standing on two
wobbly limbs
—hands let-go
then, The Fall.
Attempting again and again
fall after fall…
Years pass
—now, running through fields
gliding as if on waves
—swinging from branches.
Peace here,
but returning home
—the glass ceiling is broken.
Solace found in an empty church.
NO words.
Staring up at an altar
—seeing a suffering man
Love swaddled me.
I fall and then
—lifted by unseen arms.
School days, childhood friends.
I played hard, studied little.
On the field, I could release
all that was pent up inside.
I excelled cracking the bat
at the ball, striking the racquet
hitting a winner over the net,
serving and volleying to lead
the team to victory.
So proud, on the sidelines
the family—an illusion.
I continued to play.
Countless persons stepped in,
unknown at the time,
—they nurtured me.
One man, a father figure, impacted my life.
He left the world too soon.
His final words written to me,
“How I wish I were your father
so I could have had you forever.”
Church, that quiet haven,
no longer had answers.
The introduction to substances
provided little/if any comfort to me,
especially when I had to care
for persons whose addictions
tore the bandages covering
the scars that never
could heal.
DAY (20-40yrs)
Wandering away—
I put down ‘the games.’
I picked up books and a
new family bound me in their
loving pages.
New writings.
Upon completion of my studies,
out I stepped
—working with neglected and
abused children.
Next, I worked with
incarcerated juvenile girls.
The work was natural,
easy to empathize.
Then, a call.
My grandma suffered a massive stroke.
I bargained with the One I
called God. One moment I asked,
“Please, end her suffering,” then I’d ask
for a little more time.
I flung the Holy Book across
the room and wept.
I sat beside her. She, unable to speak,
barely moved any
of her limbs.
I looked into her eyes.
She looked back and folded
her hands in prayer.
My Wise Ole’ Grandma.
Death came for her.
I chose to embrace the hand of
Death’s path.
I walked beside others as
a Chaplain as they faced
life’s transition
from here to eternity.
All are equal here.
I recognized immediately that it
doesn’t matter if one is rich or poor,
black or white, male or female,
no matter what faith one practices
or does not practice.
In life’s turning of the page,
The End becomes New to
the one passing.
The living hold
the memories.
DUSK (40-60yrs)
Another path revealed itself when I embraced the
role of a Peace Officer.
An only woman in a field of Blue.
I was surrounded by brothers.
A small few would have liked
me removed (and baited their traps),
instead, an injury took me out
of a hid-den prison.
No longer a hostage,
no longer able to walk,
I wondered, if I ever would stand.
An old lover found me once
again. Pencil in hand,
I began sketching images
of persons.
Ordinary people from
The Hebrew Testament and The New Testament.
Before I realized what was it happening,
the sketches took the stage.
I was breathing life
into old stories.
As many times as i broke open
the Word, I knew the journey would
be different.
What unfolded is
the story of my own words in
photographs and colored artistry.
Spiritually,
I have walked a path unknown.
Glancing back, I’ve
watched a mosaic forming
many blank ‘areas’ held open
for life still being lived.
Changes began unfolding
for individuals who were
pillars in my life.
It was easy to be in a Chaplain
Role, but to these persons
I was more than Chaplain.
Loss, another loss,
cognitive changes,
decisions to move into a
safer setting, taking the set
of car keys…
It was now time for me to walk.
First, down into the depths
of the canyon.
The Grand allowed me to descend.
Coming up,
I walked with others on
The Camino Mary Magdalene.
Alone, but not lonely,
I walked The Camino de Santiago.
My steps would travel to England’s
Coast to Coast, to Wales, The Pembrokeshire Coast Path and
to Italy’s, The Camino St Francis.
A Pandemic ‘struck’ the World…
I have walked a daily pilgrimage.
I suffered an injury that
shook my core.
Still, here I write, walk, sketch,
strum a guitar, provide pastoral care
and tend to the needs of loved ones.
I have lived the life of the sun’s
rising. I have been to where
the sun is at its highest point
mid-day.
I am at the place where the sun is
making its way to the west.
DARK
I am not here, yet,
BUT, I’m living beside the
persons in my life who are
leaning toward life’s settings.
When the sun goes down
on another life lived,
I fall. I touch the ground
where they rest.
I weep watering the earth.
I rise in the early
morning hours trusting
the stars lighting the way for
those who have passed.
Lasting flames
light a way through the
darkness I shall one day
follow.
I trust the words…
the words of the suffering
man I stumbled upon
years ago,
“I am with you till the end
of the age.”
