The Breeze. Now that's Something I Can Believe In

Last Sunday, I tried to convince a group of children all age 8 and under that the reason the long thin banners in the sanctuary were gently rotating over their heads was because very small aliens on motorcycles zipping around in the air would occasionally grab hold of them as they passed by, giving them a little spin.
They weren't buying it. Not a one of them.
Nor did they believe that the guy in the sound booth had a control panel with buttons and levers that he would push every now and again when he was bored (perhaps during the sermon) to make them turn.
The only theory they believed in, the only one they voted for was the one that I also think is really the truth—that air currents were doing the trick. One older pre-teen sitting with his parents voted for the alien idea, but he's at that contrary age.
I was surprised and impressed with the children's wisdom, even at that tender age. I thought the sound booth idea at least had a small hint of believability.
Though I can't see air, I believe in the breeze because I have experienced it in other ways so very often. I'm not sure we should believe in anything that we haven't had direct experience of—probably repeated experience at that.
But that's just what I believe.

Healing

Be healed!
They shout and press a hand to a forehead and the crowd goes wild.
We want it. The mystery of things changed in the moment
Of walking free and demons released and the wounds gone away.

And we do heal, sometimes with drama and sometimes just in that
creeping so slowly
moment passing to week becoming year sort of way.
The small cuts and the big cuts knitting together in time.

Our hearts may be slower.
The pain a different sort and the wondering and the not knowing.
Harder to suture a soul quaking with fear.

But I gotta heal.
This and that and the one from last week, last year, 10 years past.

The gaps in the big world too wanting a reassuring hand.
Change and justice pushing against the pain of the ages
that kind of healing too.
Making things right.

I do my own work as I can and I ask for help and phone calls come and
petals of roses
and something warm in a simple square glass dish.

Then sometimes I just need to crawl in the lap of God.

Change Happens

I wish that every time some major change needed to happen, there would be an easy way to get everyone out in the streets. It does happen occasionally when the right combination of time, circumstance, self-interest, passion, (and probably weather) occur. Witness the groundswell of activity surrounding immigration issues recently. But mostly it doesn't happen that way, so where does that leave us when our passions run high?

Change—either personal or societal—happens in small steps. If we're lucky, the steps will rebound lightly against the earth, but more likely it will feel like the mud sucking up our very soles/souls. But we do have daily options to practice the change we want—many more of those than the chances to join our bodies and voices in one great chorus. It's hard to stay on that incremental path—it doesn't seem to be doing much, we're not getting enough notice for it, blah, blah, blah—but it is the one most available to us. So if we're concerned about racism, for example, we need to find the small, daily ways to practice hospitality, equality, justice. If we're concerned about war, we need to find the small peace-making ways that are in line with what we believe.

And then we need to be ready, so that when the planets line up and the circumstances are right, we can all rush out in the street all at once.