Lifting the Lid on My Heart
The cats are playing this morning,
chasing each other through the flower garden and around the potted plants.
The birds are more vocal than they were yesterday,
the variety of their voices filling the air.
It was foggy when I awoke from a nourishing night’s sleep,
and now the cover is lifting.
It seems to be ascending in one giant mass,
drawn up, up, and away.
I am grateful for the sleep and for all the luxuries around me.
I cannot help but think of my friends who lost their home in the hurricane this week,
their floor a soggy collection of historical remnants,
looking like death, but evidence of life.
Standing in their kitchen, they can now gaze up at the sky unencumbered.
This opening was not part of the original design.
Their home used to enclose and protect them.
Now they are exposed and vulnerable.
I’m considering that window to the sky
and how the walls we build to defend against life are just illusions of safety.
Maybe this absence of a covering wasn’t in their plan for their home,
but perhaps these openings are part of the blueprint of each of our lives.
Like the fog, their sense of security has flown up, up, and away,
lifting the lid on their hearts.
A question bubbles up from within me.
Can I stand amid the rubble of life’s unexpected traumas
and allow my heart to remain open?