Thanking the Messengers

Dear ones,

I thought I’d pause a moment to write you. The children of the spontaneous now.

Unplanned moments. The paths that I took, because the other roads broke. And the road itself carved and sculpted me, like a smoothed out mountain, from a great river flowing through it. And now, we meet, at this spot.

                                           Without shoes.

                                             Naked feet.

           I walk this path, and feel the stones beneath my feet.The earth touching my skin. I smell the trees, and the living things, hiding under all the decay of autumn.

 I pause and climb a tree, and sit in the branches. Could I sing like a bird, I would call out a song that would echo through the woods, and mountains, and all the places that I have been. A song that called everyone back to their hearts.

I would look over all the roads I have traveled through, and all the places that have led me to this point.

And say, thank you.

I would say thank you for the sunshine, and for the rain.

I would say thank you for the flowers, and weeds.

I would say thank you for the roads, for the resting harbors, and rivers, and streams, and valleys, and meadows.

And I would, from this view, say thank you to those things which were both sweet, and also painful.

I would say thank you to the outcast moments that never had a kind word, or soft heart directed at them.

I would tell them now, what I saw. I would say thank you to all of them. 

I would say thank you to the Mistakes, the broken things, some might call you. Moments in time when someone forgot their lines.

 And someone picked a new word.

 Mistakes.

  Outcasts though you may be.

 Shunned, and unloved, and unseen, except for ridicule.

I have seen you in the back, peering out, and the longer I have observed you, the more I am coming to see, you are not who I thought you to be.

  You are not to be shunned, and pushed away, and hidden.

 As I look into your eyes, I see the truth clearer.

 Though most would shrink back, and call you bad. When I look into you, and step closer, I see a glimmer of gold, a silhouette of something much more beautiful than anything I have ever seen.

Something real, and raw, and honest.

Something wise, and steady, and true.

I step into your woods, and in the darkness I follow your golden threads you have left behind, until I find higher ground, and I see your weaving, a wondrous story, leading us to a place better than the one we have known.            

In this space of higher seeing.  I see all the best parts I love about myself. I see a child, perfect in its imperfectness. Beautiful. Whole. I see love spilling over.

 I see one who tries, and tries again, and does not quit for all that does not work, and how many things break.

I see you, from this perspective of all the years I have lived. And all the years I have loved.  And I realize the wisdom of that which is unplanned, and sometimes broken, and real, and raw, and average, and normal, and unseen, and seen.

 Mistakes, I see why you try to hide. For when you are seen, mostly, you are shamed.

Shamed because we are all so blind. For if we saw perfectly.

We would let you unveil yourself.

 And we would not push you way. We would embrace you. And call you grace in disguise. We would love you better.

We would accept you, because would know that beyond the perceived broken moment.

                                The flat tire.

                                And all those mistakes that happened.

                                That shouldn’t have but did.

                                If we knew the truth, we would know that you were messengers, heralding in something much better than what we thought we wanted.

We would know that you, in whatever form you came in, were angels in disguise----part of God’s beautiful hand, and we would kiss each finger.

                                Each moment that something broke, we would know, God was trying to break through, to our hearts.

                                Mistakes.

                                Love them.

                                For in them hides the code of God.

                                The falling away of our plans, into a greater plan.

                                So I say, tonight, God, Thank you.

                                For I feel myself many times, like a mistake.

                                Somehow.

                                And yet, I know, a deeper truth, as I ponder, and see your messages written on every fold of my life. 

                And know, that someday we will all see the patterns unfold. And when that day comes, every soul will raise their hands in thanks, and say thank you for your beautiful messengers, and protectors that have been surrounding us this entire time.