May I recall your sweetness...

I was sweeping the porch after a windy night. Leaves. Tree bark. Then I saw a scrap of a bird’s nest made of sticks, fluff and torn paper. I looked up. Thankfully, behind an outdoor speaker, the nest was still there. I untangled the scrap of paper. It was faded, soft, covered in tiny words. Instructions. What instructions had these birds woven into their nest? 

What instructions do I weave into my nest? Where do I build my home?

I wasn’t able to make out all the words and they were in French. I read, “pour usage exterior” and then the words were too faded. I could only read “le toit seulement.” 

“Le toit” meant roof. For exterior use, only on the roof.”

I looked up. Above the nest, strung along the roofline were Christmas lights. The worn paper had been a tag attached to the lights.

I liked seeing the nest, the words, and the Christmas lights at the height of summer. The longest days of light of the year. What was the message here? I’ve had profound moments of love this week as I’ve sat on this porch holding our newborn grandson. 

I know that life can throw me curve balls. Sometimes they come from other humans. Sometimes my own brain tosses up old ghosts. 

Not long ago, I shared a deep fear of mine with one of my oldest friends. We were best friends in middle school and sent each other Christmas cards for decades.

There I was back in Arizona, and she and I were having coffee at the same mall where we ate bagels together when we were twelve. We talked as if no time had passed.  She’s spent her professional life helping people save their sweetest memories in scrapbooks. She teaches people how to frame their stories— to savor what is beautiful and good in their lives. To hear her talk, over a blueberry muffin, is to hear the most profound sermon I have heard.

A sermon of love, defiance and joy. 

To focus on what is good and beautiful in our life. To see it and savor it. And tell it.

I cried when she and I talked as I shared the journey I have had away from her and back to her. From innocence to wisdom. 

My deepest fear? I cried. My deepest fear was that at my death I wouldn’t be able to recall the sweetness in my life.

I cry even now sharing this with you. 

After I spoke these words, I strengthened my resolve. Again. I continue to work everyday to see and savor the tenderness, the loveliness, the beauty. To draw it. To sing it. To write it. Because I want my life to be a triumphant expression of resilience, love, grace and beauty. 

When I held my newborn grandson in my arms and he smiled at me for the first time, I felt a joy I never knew I would feel. It was pure, beautiful and full of goodness. My heart filled with love.

He smiled at me. He smiled at me. 

He won’t be a newborn forever. But I want to remember that moment forever. To let goodness and hope and beauty wash over me and through me. Again and again.

When terrible things happen, you can feel tainted by them. I want to release all of that. To let myself be human, humble, prayerful and beautiful. To let myself heal. With God’s grace. 

May I build my nest near a speaker that plays songs of love and light. May I take the beauty of a newborn’s love and weave into my nest the hope and joy of Christmas. A newborn who brought love to the world. May I take the sweet moments of my life and create these memories that I cherish and tell. And may I let the beauty of time, life, old friends, and small miracles hold me and sustain me as I journey forward.

May I wrap the beauty of my life around me and say, “Amen.”

Here is my song on YouTube, “May I recall your sweetness.” I’ve asked MissyAnn to sing this song to our firefly friend Liva who brings love, light and delight to whomever is able to see her.

With you Light and Love!

Kat~