I catalog messages, indexing the reoccurrence of themes; data points correlating into meaning. This is only when I’m observant to the presence of the messages, because they can be subtle and unexpected. A frozen rose, photographed before decaying. A sunrise so bright, the rise of Jupiter and Venus at night, a patient taxi driver playing classical guitar music instead of talk radio or pop. The delightfully round orange, equal parts juicy and sweet.
The Messenger is always sending, I’m not always at the ready receiving. But with this lens of beauty, I connect with his heart, beating to the rhythm of the expanding galaxy. It’s so achingly beautiful, in it’s devastation. I hold the cancer diagnosis with the ultrasound’s heartbeat, the breakup call with the friend’s engagement, the verb forgetting with the noun remembering, the latest civilian shooting with the celebratory olive harvest.
Gratitude is my ministry. I am a student of seeing, reciting, affirming, appreciating. It helps me remember why I’m alive; to catch his handiwork in the skies. To see, to be, to thrive.
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“To pay attention, this is our endless and proper work.” -Mary Oliver
