Tonight,after another long day of unpacking
and sorting the mismatched socks which mysteriously followed us
to the new house (how? how?),
we walk the two blocks to church—so close!—
and attend the Mass of the Sacred Heart.
Jesus awaits us.
And amidst the glow of candles
and the flowing melody of chant
my spirit begins to breathe again,
having been slightly suffocated
by walls of cardboard boxes.
In this open space, my heart expands.
The silence is pregnant with poetry—
the words which have been bottled up inside,
which my hands have longed to release,
begin to emerge and the urge to write grows stronger.
My little ones are sleepy
the baby dream chuckles and snores somnolently in the snugly
cosy and safe as in God’s pocket.
My toddler clutches his toy car,
which is always magically in his hands
no matter where we go,
until sleep releases it from his grip
with a small clatter.
My five year old slides over
with her stuffy peaking out of her coat,
her eyes wide open and insistent,
as she asks me a pressing question
“Do bunnies eat petals?”
“I know,” whispers my four year old,
Let’s pretend we’re in a movie theatre.”
I grin and breathe in deeply to let the incense fill my lungs
as the shimmer of golden vestments brightens my eyes.
Under the everyday human humdrum,
runs the divine,
like blood under skin—
hidden, life giving, essential.
The heart of God
pierced with the sorrow of love for us
stoops down to touch us gently…
an embrace filled with yearning.
Rain drums on the roof
and we are cradled inside the cosy wooden church
as if in the ark,
riding the waves of our life
to the shore beyond…
seekers listening for the gentle sound of a dove
as the Holy Spirit leads us forward.