Walking Dead – the New Little House on the Prairie?

I remember reading “Night” by Elie Wiesel around the same time our eldest daughter was expecting their first child. If you haven’t read it, you should.

Had I known how disturbing the book was I probably would have set it aside for another season. The reason being, there is a chapter that describes Jewish babies being murdered. That being said the Holocaust happened, and I wanted to remember for those who lost their lives. I wanted to read it, so I could be a better person. I whispered a prayer of gratitude, that the world in which I lived was not in the grips of evil as it was then, or is it?

When we brought our babies home from the hospital I was in awe, at the overwhelming privilege of nurturing a new life, but mostly I was in awe with God, and why he would entrust us to such a sacred opportunity.

As our vehicle got closer and closer to our children’s home, I tried to imagine what it was going to be like when I looked into my grand-daughter’s eyes for the first time, and when she looked back at me. Nothing can prepare you for what takes place. It’s like the beginning of time starting all over again inside of you, and it swells, and swells until you think you might explode into a new universe. And in some ways that is exactly what happens. Not even the stars look the same.

Today I wonder why we’re doing all we can to snuff life out? Have we progressed since the holocaust, or are we getting better at justifying death?

We weep with families who have lost loved ones in shooting rampages across America. A few days go by, and we go to the movies and watch our heroes shoot up the screen, and tell ourselves we are in no way applauding violence.

We weep, on a cold Monday morning, driving to work as we hear the news about those who have lost loved ones in wars outside our borders. After work we tromp down to the television, and tune into more war, only in the form of a cop show, or a navy seal drama, and our sensitive souls are fed what exactly?

We’ve gotten so use to justifying the story, and the spilled blood that we don’t see the person anymore. Reality and pretend are no longer blurred, they share the same time slot. “Walking Dead” in the near future will be the new “Little House on the Prairie” -guaranteed.

At some point in time something has got to change, and we can start by talking about it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Walk in Wonderland

I steered her stroller off the path into the vintage carpet of crispy leaves, so she could hear the difference. The difference between the sound of wheels on the sidewalk, and wheels in wonderland.

When we got to the soccer field I steered up and over a grassy knoll away from the noisy traffic, then gently pulled her out so she could run free on the lush, still green – soccer field. She walked instead, because this Grandma put the wrong shoes on her feet.

Her hooded blue jacket fit pretty well, with one roll up on the sleeves, but the hood fell down and immediately the wind swooped her hair up and over her eyes. I couldn’t decide which was more wonderful, her halo of blonde curls spilling all over the sky, or the way her little hands so capably pushed her bangs off her face.

She looked around at the wide open spaces, and I looked at her. She gawked at a magpie hopping under a nearby tree, and I gawked at her. She bent down to feel the grass, and studied it between her fingers,and I… studied her.

When I thought my heart couldn’t feel anymore awestruck, she placed her doll like hands on her hips, slightly more to the small of her back, and plodded further on ahead as if she was pondering something very deep, or leading some presidential parade. What does a seventeen month old ponder, I wondered?

We arrived at a red gravel running track that was separated from the grass by a sturdy curb. I didn’t want her to fall so I asked her to wait for me, and to my delight she did. I positioned myself right in front of her and reached out both my hands for hers, as if I were escorting the queen down onto her red carpet.

I closed my eyes for a second and promised myself to remember the moment, because nothing holds a candle to feeling her ten petal soft fingers wrap around my wrinkled hands.

Then she jumped…..into my heart forever.