MeliGoesRogue

I’m taking a walk in a garden, you are here. The grass is green and wet from the mornings’ rain. I’m a little girl again, wearing a dress of faces, my hair braided and my eyes peering thru my bangs which have grown past the top of my brows, which now tend to get caught in my lashes as I blink. I’m holding your hand as I skip over rocks and dips in the mud. I can’t see where we are going and yet I feel safe and filled with purpose.

The trees and birds play a harmony with the river that is running alongside us. I can hear you speaking and yet the words are not for me. Each step I take my vision begins to change as I grow taller and the garden around us begins to change as I ascend to a higher point of view. There have been so many times I have let go and run off to follow the butterflies, or jump into the fast running river that has called my attention so many times. Yet as many times as I have run from you, your pace has remained allowing me to return to that hand.  That hand that has stayed the same, the smell and the sound of your voice have also remained constant. Suddenly I see a bridge in sight, yet I cannot see what lies on the other side of it. As soon as it appears, I feel the hand that held me so tight begin to loosen, your pace has quickened and mine has somehow slowed. You turn to me and your hand’s cup my face and I am a little girl again and so are you. Your hands have changed and I no longer see the trail of blue and purple veins beneath your skin. Your hair is longer now and your breath is soft and easy. My mouth moves and while no sound is emitted I can see the recognition of my words in your eyes.

Your hand releases and for the first time, I am behind you as you walk toward the bridge. I follow your footsteps until the sunlight envelopes you and all that is left is the memory of your hand in mine. I look beside myself to where you once stood and there she is…my mother. She had been on the other side of you all this time. Our eyes meet and soon so do our hands. We look up and now the bridge is no longer feet away but its miles and miles away. Only a small speck of red in the distance. The river has now turned and lies before us with some stones offering us passage over its waters. I can see the sadness in her eyes and yet her breathing is even and her grip firm and resolute. She swings my arm as we move on.

My sweet Abuela- may you be resting peacefully in the arms of a merciful Savior. Thank you for the lessons I have learned by your side and the harder ones I have learned upon my return. I see now the years the locust ate and I stand on the promise that he will restore them. Your departure has shown me how precious love is and how much grace we have within us to give, a bountiful supply, never-ending and somehow filling me more as I pour it out on others. I thank you for the strength of your daughters that has taught me so much about the need for vulnerability and trust. I thank you for the mother you have given me. The suffering you endured to bring her forth and the faithfulness you had when once you trusted the prayers offered on your knees. There are those things that are passed on to our children not from teaching but from living. What might have been persistence in you is faithfulness in her. I can see myself in all your children and so I see myself in you.

Forgive the failings and the unwillingness to forgive of a young girl. Take heart that you have been used by my Father to show me now my errors and help straighten my path.