Sharing can be a wonderful thing. I heard from two people something that touched me. Without being something impersonal to pass on. These were thoughts that were personal and something that captured a moment for them.
So I too will share these moments of some of my friends.
The first is from my friend currently in Beirut, I have shared from her in the past, who had a brief moment which she captured beautifully here:
Beyrouth, Beirut. just when the heart feels heavy, I am reminded that we humans are and were never meant to walk this journey alone. found myself laughing the other night as I walked along the Corniche in Beirut, arm and arm with two kindred spirits whose souls mine feels as if it has known since another lifetime. there, the sea breeze gave me cause to breathe freely, as the sound of crashing waves in the dark humbled me to remember that the world's capacity for grief is so much bigger than ours, or mine. I find comfort in being so small.
And there we were, the strangest trio strolling by the sea - a beautiful Lebanese man, a blind Palestinian and a Chinese girl smiling at the children running around her as we walked as one... strolling past the families having a midnight picnic on the stone benches, the toddlers throwing glowsticks into the night sky, the young teenagers rollerblading fast by us, the old men fishing in the sea....
We met a coffee peddler with an unexpectedly American accent and an ancient face who said he'd taken the Star Ferry back and forth in Hong Kong years before I'd even been born. as if to remind us we were indeed in Beirut, the most pimped out BMW with a top of the line, blinged-out subwoofer built into the boot blasted Arabic pop music for all to hear. all the while, we searched for the blind Syrian beggar Abu Abed, who had told her about those who take advantage of the vulnerable. I worried that he disappeared back across the border in search of his house that had been destroyed. she said, "habibte inti - do not worry. that burden is not yours to bear". Her wisdom gave me pause. Her faith gave me peace.
Looking out at the neon lights of the city that sparkled and beckoned to us in the distance, for a moment I felt as if we were by Victoria Harbour in Hong Kong. not so much because I was homesick - but because in that moment, I felt at home with those twin souls. "the sea is my weakness", she had said. "and you two are mine", said I. Their love softened a fortnight of feeling suffocated like a caged bird, not least because the Bekaa, one of the places I work in the field was hit by 7 missiles in one day and I had been ordered by security to stay put, admittedly because I have a tendency to disobey such orders. But their peace demanded more of my faith in the promise that God provides, even in the week that the UN estimated 100,000 Syrians killed in this ongoing inhumane carnage.
As my week starts anew, I meditate on my twin soul's faith that His Will will not lead me where His Grace cannot keep me. and pray that I may always be joyful to walk with others, just as two angels have walked with me. — with Christie Pang and 2 others.
And there we were, the strangest trio strolling by the sea - a beautiful Lebanese man, a blind Palestinian and a Chinese girl smiling at the children running around her as we walked as one... strolling past the families having a midnight picnic on the stone benches, the toddlers throwing glowsticks into the night sky, the young teenagers rollerblading fast by us, the old men fishing in the sea....
We met a coffee peddler with an unexpectedly American accent and an ancient face who said he'd taken the Star Ferry back and forth in Hong Kong years before I'd even been born. as if to remind us we were indeed in Beirut, the most pimped out BMW with a top of the line, blinged-out subwoofer built into the boot blasted Arabic pop music for all to hear. all the while, we searched for the blind Syrian beggar Abu Abed, who had told her about those who take advantage of the vulnerable. I worried that he disappeared back across the border in search of his house that had been destroyed. she said, "habibte inti - do not worry. that burden is not yours to bear". Her wisdom gave me pause. Her faith gave me peace.
Looking out at the neon lights of the city that sparkled and beckoned to us in the distance, for a moment I felt as if we were by Victoria Harbour in Hong Kong. not so much because I was homesick - but because in that moment, I felt at home with those twin souls. "the sea is my weakness", she had said. "and you two are mine", said I. Their love softened a fortnight of feeling suffocated like a caged bird, not least because the Bekaa, one of the places I work in the field was hit by 7 missiles in one day and I had been ordered by security to stay put, admittedly because I have a tendency to disobey such orders. But their peace demanded more of my faith in the promise that God provides, even in the week that the UN estimated 100,000 Syrians killed in this ongoing inhumane carnage.
As my week starts anew, I meditate on my twin soul's faith that His Will will not lead me where His Grace cannot keep me. and pray that I may always be joyful to walk with others, just as two angels have walked with me. — with Christie Pang and 2 others.
The second is a poem on Father's Day from a friend about caring for his Father in his last days:
Strange to watch you Dad, become a stone.
In childhood, you were our rock;
we climbed you, we clambered over you,
we built our home
on you.
Now the wind weathers you,
time, rain and hail hammer you;
you don’t flinch.
Moss grows on you, insects burrow
into the deep-lined cracks of your face.
I enter the room;
you don’t respond.
And my small mother, determined,
hauls you this way, hauls you that way,
rolls you to where the sun can warm you;
you don’t flinch.
and I leave you both,
you, unmoving, but leaving,
and my mother, a tender Sisyphus,
rolling our rock
up the hill.
In childhood, you were our rock;
we climbed you, we clambered over you,
we built our home
on you.
Now the wind weathers you,
time, rain and hail hammer you;
you don’t flinch.
Moss grows on you, insects burrow
into the deep-lined cracks of your face.
I enter the room;
you don’t respond.
And my small mother, determined,
hauls you this way, hauls you that way,
rolls you to where the sun can warm you;
you don’t flinch.
and I leave you both,
you, unmoving, but leaving,
and my mother, a tender Sisyphus,
rolling our rock
up the hill.
1 comment:
Fathers Day Poems
it is the really nice post
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