A young girl whose face shines with an interior light, moves quietly among us all weekend, and with a grace-filled humility raises her voice to sing at Mass on Sunday...does she know the song Sacred Silence...yes...she wrote it; and then Jenny Pixler sings our meditation and we open ever wider to God's grace through her gift.
A woman whose heart has been broken in sorrow and anger turns loss into light and hate into healing, though the way is anything but easy.
A woman of age and grace, tiny and mighty, affirms the feminine perspective so needed, nods her smiling approval, leads the way for us all.
A woman who was wife, is now widow; and with all her strength her arms are wide stretched as her heart is held in prayer, tears streaming her ache for yes.
What about betrayal, she asks.
What can I do to cultivate this love, she speaks with a voice hesitant and low.
How do you trust like this, she whispers, coming from behind as I walk toward the open road.
She talks to me over a meal, sharing her concerns about one she loves.
We sing together We n' de ya ho and I who cannot sing find my voice.
She carries a camera, a woman of vision, and helps others to see.
A young woman, tempted to keep her face toward shadow, hidden, turns to let the light touch her face and walks straighter and taller into her life.
They hold hands, twirl and jive, all smiles on the dancefloor, the freedom of movement and music moving them.
She cannot imagine Christ, comes up blank, feels her desire stronger than her experience. Her yearning to see makes others ache for such want.
Two women sit in a corner, laughing, tears streaming down their faces at the good of it...later I see them, walking hand in hand, Martha and Mary, sisters in faith.
I see her standing tall in the treehouse (built by my husband and son years ago), looking out at the expanse, and wonder what her thoughts are standing there, when I see her bow her head down, lean on the rail, and I pray.
A woman walks up to read Gods word, shoes off, her quiet walk known by me, her life intent, that God be glorified.
She runs, literally, to reconciliation; last but not least...for the least is the greatest in the kingdom of God.
Women carrying their loves and losses, children and husbands, hurt and hope in their hearts. Carrying them to Galilee, to the mountain top. They never travel alone.
Hands reach out to help, console, create, hold tight, share strength and consolation, snap and clap and fold together in prayer...
All of us, daring in our newly recognized communion, to reach out and open wide the door to faith together.
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