i lived in three houses as a girl.
the very first one stays with me as the truest home. ten years of growing up. ten years of not knowing anything but 7702 patton street in detroit, michigan.
i don’t know when it started but i would walk two blocks down to warren road alone with one dollar and ten cents in my pocket.
when you grow up without a language for god, god speaks for itself.
i’d push open the door to the tiny chinese takeout restaurant. it was filled with light. sunshine warmed the walls and the floors. there was a glass jar filled with fortune cookies that were ten cents apiece.
i bought eleven.
the transaction was magical. the ordering, the white sheath of bag that held the cookies so filled it could barely be rolled down, but always creased to a fold it was. the handing of it over and the walking out with so much just for me.
there were things i appreciated that sang a different song than the rest of my known world. pleasures and tiny windows that promised to open into greater good and i loved to follow their scent.
a fortune cookie wasn’t about the fortune inside. but the taste of that smoothest somehow porous barely sweetened tan formed shape of a cookie? no, i didn’t forget.
what was this beautiful thing?
who are these lovely people and how did i happen into this sunlit place?
i’m still here trying to reach the source of the ringing bells of beautiful things.
i don’t feel any closer.
always just around the corner, always i know i’ll be there soon.
and the people i’ve met along the way, oh.
oh, how i love them.
together we press on.
some of us driving buses filled with those who trust us, believing that we know the way.
beautiful hints at all that is to come is one of the languages of god that i love to listen for.
god, help me not mess this whole thing up. help me actually reach you where you dwell. help me bring those you’ve given to me safely and let me able to say –
“see! here it is! this is what I was trying to show you! come with me! you won’t believe your eyes.”
let’s not tire of it.
let’s keep the faith, as it were, and see what we can not see.