Rearview Mirrors & Morning Prayers

Power Pose

Every morning she prayed, wearing a familiar hopeful template overlay on her mind like a freshly knitted beanie. Like a most loved warm, angora sweater on the heart. She willed the day to take shape happily, colorfully, like vapor streams of daybreak.  In this hour, she climbed like jetstreams toward bright blue sunny. From the view of a rearview mirror, she willed it. In one slow, wide yawn to wafting coffee wake up she saw the early tug and curtain pull of morning. It hung like a high coathook piercing the skyline. From this moondrift she set to creating the day.

She gently nudged silence into audible making stiff mirror adjustments. She bowed her head away from happy children toward grownup discipline.  This action was probably the most important preparation she would make.  She began to pray.

Jumpshot! Her quick eyes shot up to the mirror again…to behind. Again and again, an orange ball hit the rim and bounced off. Again, again, until it stalled, landing soundly and rolled in.

How does one live and land soundly in happiness? Perhaps in living kindly and fully in the moment with your whole heart.

She watched the children roar joyously. Her own child heart laughed too, skipping a beat and jumped for possibilities of a gifted morning.

Connection. She yearned for it, smiled and closed her eyes again. Again, again. She started over, praying in the beauty of His Grace.  Felt something stir inside her like the flutter of a growing infant kicking beneath a tight diaphram. She inhaled. Exhaled, dispelling lies for a blessed moment to remember divine nature.

She felt and knew His Grace sufficient…and sometimes efforts good enough. Most simply, she must love and never give up believing.

“I am complete,” she thought. “He made me and He’s making me inside and out…again, again, again.”

If she had uttered, “Thank you. Amen,” this short prayer might have been enough, but the moment asked for more as gratitude demanded its creative measure.

It would have been enough to simply say “Thank You.” Her heart was overflowing where words and explanations so often failed in terms of telling what was felt and meant. Truth was much too often lost in Silence and misdeeds, or insecurity. Silence and restraint sometimes the better part when one was held by fear.

Ice crytals and nose crinkles spelled sub zero outside the clamshell. And though the wind puffed breath clouds, it was warm inside the car. She prayed on.

Inside the biosphere, her smooth ride, Pearl, the elements did’nt matter. She would command them while could, cocooned, untouched. She felt a little guilty for this. The children looked so cold.  Just through the window and chainlink, they bounced and frolicked as if unaffected by bitter cold.

Though frost and chill heart words would rise.  Leavened,  UP! Pink, and sweet, and pillowy, billowing from figurative humble knees like Vatican smoke and mindfulness and incense and sometimes pure nonsense.  From cozy craddled driver seats, and safety belts, and Christian beats. Within the whirl, and swirl and mix of  mastered thinking she was feeling.  She was blessing, pleading, and kneading words like daily bread. She was healing in never tiring of needing Him. And so she relished in real, imagined, and believable.

Though words had limits, she sent them bubbling up. Tears condensing, releasing kernels of a heaving Soul.  Body and mind one, she felt her part in stollen ozone, as greenhouse gases sputtered from Pearl’s tailpipe.

Up, up, up she sent her heart’s confessions and requests. Up, up, up. Down, down, down, the tears trailed down her face. But Up she had to climb….on to bringing the most good. Thoughts and words and actions must go….UP….and stay there, reaching high above the gravity of heavier things…for filling golden buckets and common cores.

Her bucket had holes. She knew it. It always had, and always would. This would not end, nor would it stop her from attempting good.

“Dear God. Father. Thank you for the Law…..of Love. Please, help me to rise above myself.”

She blessed the day. The drive. Good coffee. School. She thanked her God for children full of Love. Kind, knowing hearts. For treasured children sometimes knowing more than she knew or thought she knew. She thanked a God provider, protector, Creator for another day to fully feel His promises and loving arms around her trembling frame.

“Please help me love the children and be loved.”

She blinked her sable painted eyes, and set to forming inky wrinkles into smiles. The smiles that made more smiles, and smiling hearts and eyes light up. Eyes she’d prayed would see the good in others. Ears to hear their needs more than her own. Feet to follow first.

No more crying, happy or otherwise. She spied a bus convoy arriving.  It would soon be time for teaching.  She marveled at the exactness, and timing of the drop-off.  She had a knack for losing time so often.

Ah.  She awed the clockwork marvel of daily child delivery. One time she held this skill and took this pill.   The hub, the modern livery was stable, solid. Wet with tears, they appeared streaky yellow, heavy, high profile. The mode, the mean, the stepping stone to teaching.  She had driven bus ten years ago with hues and lines, and warning flashing lights, and animated stop signs. Watching fondly and protectively on as  little feet lighted from big bus steps to concrete, with zippered coats, and happy, huggy greetings.  The bus drive mostly gone to memory now.

The time had come for being done. So in His name she closed the morning prayer and swung a creaky driver’s door to actuate the work of teaching.

She stretched and climbed out, leaving the rearview mirror to watch over frozen parking lots. The watchdog dads,  the pseudo cops, surveylance cams, phantom patrol cars. All these would watch on still, and strong, and silently. The sentinel cross walk stops,  all these layers of safety would watch on until the day was done and children safely home.

She crossed the ice slick parking lot. She high-stepped, dipped with slushy Uggy guttered cautious footwork toward a blessed classroom. Handholding morning prayers and hugging children. Together, they would create a happy day of learning under His watchful care.

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About hrobertson2013

“Each man ( and mermaid) will be like a shelter from the wind and a refuge from the storm, like streams of water in the desert and the shadow of a great rock in a thirsty land”. Isa 32:2 NIV Warning: The author of this blog is not an ordinary individual. Even Mermaids need a rest from all that's real and grown up. Welcome to the wonder of blog. Come be audience to all that's wet and wild in her stories, poems and thoughts. Instructor by day, super hero by night, and mystical mermaid by summer. Whenever she has the fortune of diving into a pond, reservoir, or mountain waterfall, you'll find her there swimming, and singing songs of life.
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