I realized if I had to choose, I would rather have birds than airplanes.

-Charles Lindbergh

]]> http://notaunicycle.wordpress.com/2009/04/15/does-it-hurt/feed/ 1 ruby read me read me read me read me you know you want to and by golly you should! ..again. and often. http://notaunicycle.wordpress.com/2009/04/13/678/ http://notaunicycle.wordpress.com/2009/04/13/678/#comments Mon, 13 Apr 2009 15:03:08 +0000 ruby http://notaunicycle.wordpress.com/?p=678 ]]> morning after Easter thoughts and who we are:

..sometimes i need to be reminded that i carry the white flag
..and sometimes i’m not even sure where the confusion began or when i’d forgotten what was important and who i was- a child of God, a part of the body..
and wow, what that means- what blessing actually Is.. where It comes from..

Dear God,
thank you for mornings
for loving me
for waking me
for reminding me
for your Son.
i love you so, Amen.

even mondays can be beautiful.. no, are beautiful..
simply, i hope you experience beauty today!

you’re loved,
we’re loved,
and i’m so glad, excited, to be ‘growing up’ with you !

in Peace,
ruby

__________________________________________________________________

Luke 24:13-53
what’s important?  who am i?
Luk 24:16 But their eyes were restrained, so that they did not know Him.
Luk 24:48 And you are witnesses of these things.

alone is a lie.

welcome, oh one in between..
welcome, today..
welcome, infant this year!

O Holy Night! The stars are brightly shining,
It is the night of the dear Saviour’s birth.
Long lay the world in sin and error pining.
Till He appeared and the Spirit felt its worth.
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.
Fall on your knees! Oh, hear the angel voices!
O night divine, the night when Christ was born;
O night, O Holy Night , O night divine!
O night, O Holy Night , O night divine!
-O Holy Night

Christmas is a time when you get homesick – even when you’re home.
-Carol Nelson

Christmas gift suggestions:
To your enemy, forgiveness. (love your neighbor)
To an opponent, tolerance. (love your neighbor)
To a friend, your heart. (love your neigbhor)
To a customer, service.  (love your neighbor)
To all, charity.  (love your neighbor)
To every child, a good example. (aren’t we all children??  children of God?)
To yourself, respect. (1 Cor 6:19)
-Oren Arnold

Every time we love, every time we give, it’s Christmas.
-Dale Evans

And the Grinch, with his Grinch-feet ice cold in the snow, stood puzzling and puzzling, how could it be so? It came without ribbons. It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes or bags. And he puzzled and puzzled ’till his puzzler was sore. Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before. What if Christmas, he thought, doesn’t come from a store. What if Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more.
-Dr. Seuss

There’s nothing sadder in this world than to awake Christmas morning and not be a child.
-Erma Bombeck, I Lost Everything in the Post-Natal Depression

Never worry about the size of your Christmas tree.  In the eyes of children, they are all 30 feet tall.
-Larry Wilde, The Merry Book of Christmas

Happy Birthday, baby Jesus!
Merry Christmas, loved ones!

..and may you always see Christmas trees as 30 feet tall..

Peace & Love,
ruby

hello.
goodbye.
i love you.
i remember you.
i’ll be seeing you.
THANK YOU.

God, PLEASE let the door hit me on the way out.. i never want to forget these faces.
and THANK YOU for the beautiful faces i get to see and do life with every day.

reminiscently yours,
ruby

p.s. dear Yve, i went out in my slippers tonight to see the moon, but couldn’t find it. however, i did see the stars in the crisp winter air, and also.. my breath. LOVE YOU!!

who’s got better surprises that God?

i have a work friend, who every time you see him, greets you with “aloha, happy birthday!”.. accompanied with a super grin (sincere to boot, i might add).

anyway, his greeting, combined with the passing of my own birthday not too long ago, have had me thinking about birthdays, gifts and surprises.. that leading to the pondering over the ‘gifts’ and ‘surprises’ we receive not only once a year, but every second of every day. and then i found this picture last night, that was taken about a year ago from my window, of my most favorite tree.

i looked at the photograph, at eleven o’ clock in the night, then rose and walked over to my living room window.
i stared at the profile and contrast of my beautiful tree against my favorite color sky.
i thought of the red-orange leaves that had recently began following me into my apartment, each time i entered, and how pretty they looked against the white tile floor in my entryway.
i thought of the night before, the brief observance of december’s crisper air, and the fun i had finding myself lost for a moment in play, watching my warm breath cloud out in puffs, before disappearing back into the atmosphere.

breath- something that is always there, invisible.. yet one season a year, when you get to see it, is like the first time.. and if you let it, will transport you to the memory of The free place you’ve never been to.. you know, the Homeplace. what an amazing gift!

but sometimes, do seasons and winters fly by, blending into years (plural form), and we never see our breath.. ??

breath.. reminds me of faith-
it’s life-sustaining.
it’s always there.
some say you have to know it’s there and you can feel it, just try.. but i believe, like missing the beauty of our breath tufts against the winter air (and simply the miracle that we breathe at all), sometimes years bleed into decades, decades into entire lives, and we still miss it..

faith- many might say it can’t be seen, but i disagree.. if you’re wondering why, please refer to above evidence, go outside and smell a flower, hold an infant, study your own hands for a few minutes, or just. take. a. breath..

sigh. (good sort sigh)

so, who’s got better surprises than God?

no, sir, it’s really not a question at all.

look around you. you may be surprised to see what you’ve missed with your open eyes (i know i was. wait- *looks around*-i still am!!). then enjoy your gifts, your surprises.. but meditate on these things as you enjoy-
these gifts and surprises, well, they’re really not yours, you see, but ours.. so share them with the person next to you, or verbally over the phone lines with a far away friend, jot them down in a journal, or use them as motivation to get out of bed in the morning, to create, to connect.. and in that prayer-time and meditation, may you find joy in the perfect truth that the greatest gift of all may be found in the sharing of it.

God, help me to remember this.

oh! and wherever you may be, aloha, happy birthday..and thank you.. for letting me share my (correction: our) sunrise.. with you!

xo,
ruby

once a week, i volunteer with a ministry program that meets thursday evenings on a military base. the ministry is a chaplain sponsored outreach program to soldiers in training; its mission to give the soldiers a break from their stressful training. we often have live music from local churches (sometimes from the trainees themselves), serve pizza, coffee, cookies, and an ear or shoulder to lean on when necessary. i’ve been helping out, on and off, for a little over three years. our attendees are mostly young, married or single soldiers in job training, and occasionally the civilian who straggles in.

for three years i have seen many faces come and go, a few return, and made some forever friends in the process. but this particular night there was a man there that no one had ever seen before.

it was November 15, a week before thanksgiving. i was sitting at the welcome table watching a music video on the television, while waiting to greet and sign folks in. the table i sat at was a tall round table with equally high chairs, it’s top smattered with hand-outs containing church information, a sign-in sheet for free pizza tickets, and then my own assortment of ink pens, Bible, journal and my battered (i’m a tad on the clumsy side. okay, okay, maybe a large tad.) red cell phone. from my seat, i had visual access to both entrances of the pizza joint that we meet at, one door guarded at all times in my peripheral vision.

it was then, out of the corner of my eye, that i first saw him…

i spotted the man the moment he walked in. he stood out, not only in appearance, but in mannerism and simply in presence. an older black man, most likely late fifties, early sixties, he was undoubtedly a war veteran and looked homeless. he was a heavier-set man, of medium height. beyond this, his description was downright bizarre: he wore thick glasses, yet still appeared to have difficulty seeing, and his walk veered as if his equilibrium were off. around his neck was a colorful assortment of plastic beaded jewelry, mardi gras style. also, mixed in with the beads, were at least half a dozen empty and de-labeled pill bottles- topless, strewn together and worn as a necklace. odder still, the last item adorning his neck, was a container on a string, full of toothbrushes. yes, TOOTHBRUSHES. dingy, black sneakers laced over his unbalanced feet, and he wore the newer style camouflage army pants, yet they were very broken in and dirty. to top this interesting ensemble, he wore a heavy winter jacket and a black veteran’s hat sat upon his head.

he came over to the table i was sitting at, and i told him about the free pizza and showed him where to sign in. he seemed a bit confused, and instead of signing in on the attendee roster, he grabbed the volunteer sign-in, saying it had “bigger blocks for him to see”. i didn’t quite know what to say, and just let him sign the volunteer sheet, which had a large block for each: your name, address and phone number. after picking up the pen, the man lended his weight to the table for support, got down very close to the paper and began to write. in all capital letters, across the entire width of the page and all three blocks, he recorded his full name and the name of the military base we were on- no other address, phone number, or further contact information. when he was done writing, he pulled his head back far from the paper, as a far-sighted person might do without their spectacles, and appeared to inspect his work. he then nodded to no one, and it struck me then how oblivious he seemed to be of his peculiar behavior and appearance. thinking about it in hindsight, perhaps he was just disinterested as to what the world thought, only caring what The One thought.

i found myself lost in thought for a moment, before coming crashing back to earth and the pizza joint. i lifted my gaze from what he had written on the paper to his eyes, and asked him where he lived. he repeated what he had written on the paper- simply the name of the military base we were on- no street, no house number, nothing more. finally, i just picked up a ticket for a free slice of pizza, and passed it in his direction. he returned the gesture with a confused look, as if he had no idea what he had just signed in for or what i was handing him. i explained again why we were there. he asked me if i wanted money, i said no and handed him his ticket.

i pointed him in the direction of the pizza counter, and also the table with free books, Bibles, crosses and reading materials the chaplaincy provides. he hobbled over to the table with the sign reading ‘free stuff’ first. his back was to me then, but i still saw whole body respond with excitement as he picked something up from the table.

next, he turned around to where his face was visible again. i could then see, that the something he had picked up, was a small cross. he began digging in his pocket for something before finally pulling out a handful of change and other small items.

as he was sifting through the items in his hand, he began to walk back towards my table, finally stopping in front of me and trying to hand me some change. i told him no yet again, and stated the program was free, it’s purpose, and to please take what he wanted or needed. even though, he continued to jiggle through the pennies and some silver change before finally deciding upon a nickel. my protest this time was halted mid-declination when the man held the nickel up high and began to speak- “stop. read it.” he proceeded to read the nickel aloud, ” ‘in God we trust.‘ ” he paused a moment, perhaps to let the urgency and importance of the words preceding stand on their own, then continued on, “take this nickel. take it home. get a hammer and a screw (he actually said screw). put a hole in it, place it around your neck and never forget who you trust in.”

i smiled and took the nickel. it was everything i could not do to hug this man.

i watched him walk over to the pizza counter, and then must’ve gotten busy because next thing i knew, he had disappeared. i began to wonder about this man, his life and where he came from. did he have family? or was he alone in life? children? a love story? a tragedy? had he escaped from the psyche ward at the base hospital? i wondered about his peculiar attire and if i’d ever see him again. this last question would be a feeling i would come to know well.

soon after, Randy, the civilian gentleman who runs the program, stopped by the welcome table to see how things were going. i excitedly told him i had a story that would make him smile. i gave him my account of the homeless veteran, ending by revealing the shiny nickel in my palm.

a cheerful look crossed over Randy’s face, before sticking his hand into his pocket, pulling out a nickel and telling me that, he also, had experienced an encounter with the odd man and been given a nickel. i felt a cheerful glow wash over my own face.

we did see the man one more time that evening: at some point, he had re-entered the main room we gather in. when my eyes fell upon him, he was sitting in one of the plush chairs in front of the television, watching music videos. he was crying, a waterfall, shameless and wild, cascading down his leathery, worn face. there was nothing sad about this man’s tears; in fact, it was beauty in a place i would never have looked for it, his tears’ naked honesty stirring my soul in a way i still don’t think i fully understand. i walked over to his chair and knelt down beside him. i told him we gathered every Thursday, and we would love to see him again. he gripped my hand, still crying and replied simply, “thank you.” there was a sincerity to those words, that like his tears, surpassed my comprehension.

forty-seven thursdays have passed since the last time i saw him.

i never noticed the strange vet leave that night, which was odd, as i was acutely tuned in to his presence. it was as if he were there one minute, and gone the next second. that night, i went home and wrote in my journal, everything i could recall about this man. i had planned to present him this story the next time we met, and perhaps learn more about the mystery of his life and identity. i wanted to ask him if i could share this story with the world, his name, his story.. but we never did cross paths again.

later, i shared the story of this encounter with a friend, who in turn told me of a similar meeting she had experienced, with an equally peculiar man.. a man who also seemingly vanished, never seen or heard from again. in her story, the man’s name was actually Emmanuel. our story exchange was then followed by a goose-bumpy, heart swelling conversation about angels and a mysterious God who loves us so.

i remember quite clearly the name of the man from the coffeehouse- not sure i could forget it if i tried. but for privacy to this man and the inability to ask him for permission to use his name, i’ve chosen to keep his real name tucked inside my heart until the day we meet again. until then, i will call our beaded, visually impaired, angel friend- Emmanuel.

as for my nickel, it hangs upon my car rearview mirror. daily, i am reminded of Whom i put my trust in, and every-time that shiny piece of metal catches the sun, i am humbled by the memory of a mysterious meeting with a man i would meet but once, yet would change my life in ways i’m still discovering forty-seven Thursdays later.

happy anniversary, Emmanuel. i love you so.

” ♥ “