| The fountain of my belief | |||||||||||||||||
| Love | Belief | ||||||||||||||||
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I have always been a searcher- ever since I was a girl I was enchanted- which is to say I lived in a dreamlike world. Yet, at the same time I enjoyed the details of the physical world with a deep and soulfull satisfaction. I was shy and extremely sensitive to the moods, words, and tempers of others. I was also sensitive to what I felt to be the presence of God and always believed that I had the power of prayer at my disposal. I think this gift and influence came mostly from my Grandmother. She used to take me to two sacred places. The first being her church where she worked as a secretary, and where I was left to crawl around on the cranberry colored carpets and dawdle about the pulpit playing minister. The second and perhaps most important place she took me to was to the forest where we would have long and magical journeys togehter. She seemed to know the names of all the plants and animals, and as we wandered through the woods she would take me to other dimensions. She would paint a picture of the past telling me about the horses watering holes and the mansion that once stood at the top of the mountain. At other times we play games of imagination when she would try to help me imagine how the path would be if we were invisible to the animals. I had a deep and abiding love for my grandmother- everything about her brought me peace and infused my soul with her spiritual love. I still remember a million things about her- things that are imprinted upon my heart- things that bring me warmth when I feel my soul is cold. Everything she did was magic to me, and everything she did is still with me because I remember it all. The way she made perfect cinammon toast for me in the morning and, the way she cut my sandwiches the way I liked. I can still see her gentle hands peeling fruit, or working some fabric that was to become the clothes I would wear for all of my special occasions. In the mornings she used to let me help her make her bed. Together we would billow out the sheets, place them *just so* and tuck them in using perfect hospital corners. Then we would smooth out the white coverlet so that the pillows were nested snugly at the head of the bed. I still sleep with her pillow today. In a young life that had no security or order that *tucking and primping of the bed* somehow soothed my wounded soul. Somehow, by making that bed she taught me the joy that can be found in doing everyday things. Her house was my haven- it was the only place in which I felt safe to dream and to be a child. To me everything about that house was magical. Every board, every brick, every piece of furniture that she cared for so so lovingly. In it we would roam together and she would show me things she had of her grandmother and through them I felt wrapped up in a big endless chain of love. Today I am lucky enough to have a few of my grandmothers things. Still, I dream in that house, sleep in that house, and somehow live there even though I am miles away. I smile to think of how I would come home from her house smelling of her things- and for the short time that the scent lingered I felt at peace. I can still smell that smell now and my grandmother lingers with me. God bless her soul- God rest her soul. She gave me guidance in the power of belief. She eased my childs guilt and tought me to trust in God. Its with great shame that I admit that I have not always kept her lessons in mind. But, I have always known enough to know that the light of God surrounds me. In the darkness of any sorrow her memory gives me light, and guides me gently back to God. For, to me she was my angel and I believe that wherever heaven is she is there smiling brightly; listening to the sounds of the morning birds and through them singing her love to me. | |||||||||||||||||
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