Things That Heal

This morning I woke up and my heart was so sad and tired. I did the things one does, sitting by an open window with an open book, drawing simple things with simple lines, but still I was restless. There was nothing left but to run and so I ran.

I ran on my bicycle, and because I have been around long enough, I knew that it is not enough to run. One must run to. And because I have been around just longer than enough, I knew to run to my garden.

Gardens are healing. I knelt in the earth and began pulling weeds, tending plants and drinking in the beauty of growing things. If there were no words, this is how bodies would pray.

There was one other gardener in the patch, an elderly Vietnamese man, working a few patches over. The silence between us was friendly but complete. Just then, I looked up and he was standing over me, holding a tremendous squash blossom. With a toothy grin, he wordlessly stooped over my sweet dumpling squash's tiny flowers, engulfing one of them in his own blossom. He straightened out, chuckling at this pantomime of floral cannibalism.

Then, he picked up my hoe and with perfect grace and assurance began to tend my plot. The weeds that I'd been toiling over bowed to his mastery. At first, I tried to work alongside him, awkwardly darting in to grab a rock or weed between his deft strokes. Finally, I surrendered to the grace of the moment, rocking back on my heels and watching the simple poetry of this, his second gift.

As I bicycled home, the whir of tires on pavement blended with thunder and the scent of water on dry grass. My knees pumped like a whale's heart: steadily, slowly, deeply, silent under an ocean of air. I biked past people I know by name. I said hello and the world felt smaller, safer.

At church, the pastor announced a box of free books in the hall. I left the service immediately, ostensibly to get a drink. Within moments, I hovered over an assortment of wise, dusty books. Even better, I met another woman who also found the call of free literature irresistible. What an amazing way to meet someone. Our laughter blended with gentle church sounds from the other room and we parted friends. New friends, but friends nonetheless.

There were three baptisms, and I saw gentle hands reach out in benediction. I saw families wrapping around each other and church wrapping around them, spheres of community. A family, some water and the life of God at the center.

At the end, people passed the peace of Christ. Again, gentle hands, gentle words, "The peace of Christ be with you." "And also with you."

In the afternoon, I went to the bead festival. I immersed myself in color and texture, in light shining through and off a thousand tiny surfaces. It was like walking through a hundred paintings. One moment, you'd stand back and drink in the brilliant dots of color: a Seurat. The next, you'd hover over an intricate, filigreed surface, alone with it's beauty while the crowds jostled by: an etching.

In the evening, there was a retirement celebration for my pastor and his wife. I got to speak gratitude to them, to look from the faces in the congregation to their faces, to translate from expressions into words how much we love and appreciate them. I got to listen to the kind words of others. I got to listen to the deep, rolling voice of a pastor from Associated Ministries as he sang out his blessing. Again, there were gentle hands as people gathered to pray. Again, the sound system didn't work quite right and we laughed at the comforting familiarity of this quirk. Everything might change, but sound systems are reliably unpredictable.

Then, stepping into the rain, listening to the silliness of a friend's voicemail.

All these things, these grace-filled moments, were things that heal. None of them healed me. It's a specific hurt, and only the hand of God heals those. Still, how beautiful to find this broken world so full of God's good heart that there he is, spilling out of every little crack.

As you walk through life, I hope you find his presence on every street. I hope you say hello. I hope you greet him by name. You will find, I think, the world a little smaller, a little safer. You will find, if not healing, at least the Healer. The peace of Christ be with you.