In Praise of Red Crayons

 In the midst of the ongoing Covid-19 pandemic, I stopped taking my increasingly isolated mother to her local Church for Sunday Service.

The Priest of her Parish is kind and good, and the Church he leads seemed to find its True Soul in the unfolding uncertainty of the times.

I called out to the kind hearted Priest for a home visit with my mom, to uplift her and guide her.

I bought him Angel Wing pastries and fresh herbal tea. He came without question or hesitation.

For my mother, this was a blessing of deep Grace. The Priest came to see her, personally, and spent time with her, talking like two old friends on the front porch. She was filled and complete, and for this I was grateful.

I noticed, however, my inner despair at not feeling properly fed by this visit. I tried to let it go. This was not about me. My mother was at peace, which had been what I  thought I had longed for.

Yet my own sense of let down just grew more persistent. 

I realized that I had needed something from that visit, too. I had needed words of holy fire and healing waters. I had needed a sailboat, a surf board, a prophetic wave in which to ride the currents of our time. 

I had needed John, The Baptist.

My Mother needed Father John, from down the street.

When I finally went into the Silence, to ask of my Guidance what to make of it all, the answer was swift.

"Child", spoke the Spirit in Whom I  rely, "It is neither kind nor wise, to ask of a red crayon to draw you deep blue skies."

This Guidance has remained with me. 

If I release my limited expectations and meet people where they are, as they are, deeper hues of unexpected Truth arise.

There are many crayons inside my box.

I hope to show up in as much living color as I can possibly draw out.  And to appreciate, always, the pallet within and before me. The rich living Tapestry in which we are held, in full spectrums of color and light that are drawn as we gather.