Thursday, March 17, 2005

Flying With Angels

The beauty of this intimate conversation with our toddler was in the sheer innocence of it all. We never tried to guide or direct the information she was sharing with us. We only talked about her memories on a couple of other occasions--her story never changed.

Our family chooses to believe that we have all flown with the angels, and that time has a way of fading those precious memories. We encourage everyone to ask their young children about heaven--but hurry!!--before they forget...

It was a beautiful spring day. The sky was full of marshmallow clouds and singing birds. Flowers were in full bloom and their sweet fragrance filled the air. This was a perfect day for Sydney's favorite thing--let the SWINGING begin!

As Sydney and her Daddy strolled towards the tree swing, her tiny finger pointed up to the sky. "Do you remember when I used to fly in the sky with the angels?" Our baby asked this question with an innocent bluntness beyond her years. It was as if she expected everyone to remember since she did.

Her Daddy was speechless as he lifted his youngest daughter into the wooden tree swing. The conversation quickly shifted to Bubba, the beloved cat, and the day faded into night.

As I tucked Sydney into bed for the evening, I asked her to tell me about flying with the angels. And so she did...
Sydney told me about Jesse, an angel, who dressed in green and had long red hair. Jesse was very sweet and took good care of her.
Jesse's job in heaven was to teach all of the children how to behave. She liked to play too. Everybody loved Jesse!
Sydney's "special angel" enjoyed flying with the children over the houses where they would live when they were born. A sneak peak was all she would allow.

Jesse was fun, but Sydney's favorite part of heaven was storytime with Jesus. He loved to tell them stories about when he was a child. They would gather at his feet and listen to every word--he was such a good storyteller.

I felt a chill from head to toe as my "angel" recounted her experience in heaven. I thought to myself, what a comfort this memory must be for her.
As another spring day was in bloom, our oldest daughter, Lindsay, volunteered to swing her little sister. Gently lifting her into the seat of the swing she whispered, "Syd, remind me what it was like to fly with the angels"...

Since this experience many years ago my daughter now has a toddler of her own. Sarah and her dad were walking through the yard and she pointed to the sky with her own tiny finger..."I flied with the angels." He had never heard the story but found it interesting...he told Sydney and she called me. I told her to ask about it when the day was ending and Sarah was winding down. Sydney didn't recall the details after all of these years. She didn't want me to tell her just to see if there was a comparison.

Later in the day she questioned her baby and was given the same look of confusion I received...both thought it was something we all naturally either knew or remembered. Sarah's angel's name was Jesse...she had red hair...wore pink with green wings. Jesse played with the children and flew them over their houses. Jesus told stories and was fun. This was all volunteered information with no coaxing or questions. UNTIL...Sarah was asked if Jesse watched over her..."no...mamaw Cora held my hand and brought me here. Liza was there too but mamaw Cora didn't take care of her...she was with Bud and Mama "Feeder" (Wheeler). Sarah did not know Cora, Bud, or Mama "Feeder". (Bud and Mama Wheeler were my grandparents; Cora was her Dad's). The conversation stopped here...

I urge you to ask your children without putting words in their mouths to tell you about angels and heaven. Please...before they forget. gayefox

Tuesday, March 08, 2005

Crazy James

This one goes way back to my elementary school days. Don't ask why I thought about it--I guess because thoughts constantly rush through my mind. Our playground at Southside Elementary was completely enclosed in a fence. Everyday during recess the same man walked by our campus. He was referred to in our town as "Crazy James". James always wore blue jean overalls and walked with his hands held behind his back. James had no teeth and chomped as he walked. He was probably in his 40's, but mentally still a child. When he walked by the fence he would be called names, made fun of, and kids would throw things at him. This went on everyday--teachers never intervened. I remember sitting in the swing wondering about James' feelings. I wanted to stand up and scream for it all to stop, but I was afraid--and to tell the truth I was afraid of James too--ignorance I guess.
Why did this man subject himself to meanness everyday? Why didn't he just walk somewhere else? Maybe his mind didn't comprehend this viciousness--maybe he was just lonely.

Fast forward--in Hamburg there's a man referred to as "Jumpin' Joe" or "Highstepper". You've probably seen him if you live here. He walks everywhere, speaks to everyone, and like James is made fun of. BUT today I'm not afraid. If Joe wants to talk I'll talk as long as he wants. I listen to what he says and let him know I care. I wave with the same enthusiasm as he does. It's the least I can do for James' sake. I believe there's a lot to be learned from James and Joe.

Today the Caruthersville (my hometown) walker is Mark Skelton. I never knew James; Joe is an acquaintance; but I grew up with Mark--we graduated together. He is intelligent and incredibly talented. I never had a doubt that he would be a famous cartoonist--his work was amazing. But Mark was different, made fun of in a vicious way, and gave up somewhere along the way. I admired him and I guess he sensed it because he was comfortable around me. Oh don't worry, every time the school needed something drawn they would play nice to him--it made me sick to see him be used. Not long ago on a trip back home I saw Mark walking down the street. It broke my heart. He was large, dirty, and so so lost. I wanted so bad to pull over and talk to him; but again I was afraid. I don't know his state of mind today or if he is in touch with reality.

Does anybody out there care? Why can't the James', Joe's, and Mark's be cared about too? If there's one thing in this life I am completely sure of it's this--EVERYONE has something special to offer. Thanks to close-mindedness we'll never know the gift James, Joe, and Mark were put here to share. That's our loss...
Hold On--Good Charlotte