I Can’t See the Future Yet


My good friend will lay to rest her 2-year-old granddaughter today after losing her to Alper’s Syndrome which stole her health but not her smile.  And while I know the inspiration that this little girl brought to so many just from her smile, I ache for my friend and for this baby’s momma and daddy and sissies and for all who loved her, it’s just not the right order, you know?  Losing a child or a grandchild, especially one so young.   My heart despairs for the sorrow they (are) will experience, and I know that losses like this reveal some very powerful things about our strength and spiritual life and God, but I simply can’t see the future for them yet, so I mourn for them from afar.

One of my favorite stores closed the other week without even the sound of a click of a door.  I stopped by to pick up an air plant or two, maybe a succulent to put in my kitchen window, and found the store’s windows covered with white paper.  Not even a note on the door saying, WE ARE CLOSED, THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATRONAGE.  I was so shocked because this truly had become one of my favorite stores on 3rd Street.  I could walk down there and for a few bucks find something to give to a friend or to bring into my house for light and air and earth and inspiration.

This store was a plant store of sorts, but not really just that.  It was a store where whimsy, plant life and art all collided.  I’m still bummed.  I immediately called the Chamber of our town, and the place indeed had closed and the Chamber lady (who never identifies herself when answering the phone which really bugs me, because as a Chamber lady, aren’t you supposed to welcome folks to your town, and wouldn’t it be so much more personal if you just mentioned your name when you answered the phone?) informed me that the owner was still operating from her home, but that is not what I want.  I want to go and I want to spend a few minutes in the muggy-ish, dirt and clay and earth aroma-d atmosphere and be inspired and see life and visualize it in surprising places like an old bed spring or a glass globe with trinkets glistening on the bottom — the plant reaching for the sun while the light spires from the trinkets and fills the room with magic.

Dreams closed for another business. I see a lot of businesses’ dreams closed down, and I don’t see the future yet.

I have an impatience to me right now, I’m not right in my own skin.  I’ve felt this before, I bet you have to0, if you’ve thought about it, but for many they don’t think about it, they just move along and sit at the same desk or at the same machine, and wake up in the same bed on the same side, and eat the same breakfast every morning and they don’t let it get to them, because they can’t see the future yet, or maybe because they do?  The future is what it is right now, the same desk, bed, side, breakfast, with a variation on what they eat for lunch maybe, or if they stub their toe on that day or not.

Then there are the folks who feel this way and embark on an affair, find God, or chuck it all and move to the Caribbean.

I personally think it’s good to feel this way, even though it’s incredibly uncomfortable. If you think about it, anxiety and excitement mimic the same feelings inside our bodies, it’s the mind that discerns the two and decides what actions to take, fight, or flee, or make a simple change.

As doors close forever, and a pretty pink casket is lowered into the ground, I realize that it’s not for me to know the future, it’s just for me to know about the present, and to express my love and my concern, and to make a change or two or three, get my feet dirty in the spring soil, take a new route on my walk, make sure to patronize those small businesses I want to thrive, vote for like-minded people, have a little faith, and maybe pray a different prayer.



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