Grand place, grande réunion
the train took us there. we followed the cobblestones… to the bronze statue of the dead Jesus – touched shiny by people walking by hoping for a miracle of sorts, a touch from heaven. we spotted them and the teacher went real african – he whistled… they turned around.
we sat down close to the fireplace. the white aproned waiter placed hot chocolate, cherry and apple pie slices in front of us. the gentleman in the corner had a glass of red wine and the morning paper. then we celebrated life and friendship.
celebrated I AM, our being created in the image.
of an empty house and more questions than answers and missing our dear friend that passed on. of travels to the holy land and divine appointments. of an altar of sorrow becoming an altar of worship. of frail parents in africa. of facing fears, pain. (i saw the tears.) of writing. of a white clay pot baked a second time in a fire made of papers with burning why-questions. the pot came out stunning! it took more fire. she showed us the picture of her pot.
more hot chocolate. the youngsters squeezed in at the table next to ours – messaging, laughing.
celebrated I AM.
of presence in the moment, breathing heaven. of joy fountains and the wonder of the Mystery. of believing, asking help in our unbelief. hope.
until we meet again.
the living Jesus touched us.
the train took us home.
