blind

I had a blog post forming in me head as I walked from south central Lansdale (Mosaic Woman left with the car from where we had coffee to be at the craft show), east to a Labyrinth, south into woods than jagged north and west past political signs and their houses to a diner, then back east walking past my old church and thinking about war and its sadness till I turned north and finally made it home.

But things change as God's creation unfolds and opens your eyes...

I go into my studio to work on a gift. This week a friend at work passes by and tells me she is leaving; her house was broken into. As she leaves I hope for the best, you know one of those burglaries where they take 5 things that were headed to good will, do some dusting, than fix the smashed window on their way out.

It didn't go that well.

She tells me about it two days later when she returns to work. Tears fill her eyes.

So I am back in my studio creating something for both her and her house and I notice the CD I played while soldering the last piece I made. I go to the song MARY, by Patty Griffin and press the repeat button.


these lyrics jump out during the third time it repeats...

Youre covered in treetops, youre covered in birds
Who can sing a million songs without any words

And your mind goes to the friend who loves birds, who is in grief, who you held that stained glass up to the light for... and your mind stays with the other friend who cried telling you about the invasion into her house.

your own tears form and you keep foiling stained glass, MARY keeps repeating.

Then these words blast your soul open

You cast aside the sheets, you cast aside the shroud
Of another man, who served the world proud
You greet another son, you lose another one
On some sunny day and always stay
Mary, mary, mary

and you say to yourself, how did you not see the connection before? how blind were you to God's unfolding creation when you held up that stained glass.

tears stay as I finish the foiling.

Last night in my first spirit group meeting in two years, a friend asks me to elaborate "how did Jesus come to you in hell." Truth be told, he did not come first, it was Mary I imagined into that doctor's office. It was Mary who first greeted me with compassion as I sat alone in silence, in desolation cursing God. It is Mary I send out to comfort my friends.

While the angels are singin his praises in a blaze of glory
Mary stays behind and starts cleaning up the place...

and I praise a God who with the help of a repeat button, allows a goof like me to see...

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