Noticing Souls

in moments

On the way to the frame shop yesterday, my first stop of three, I recognized I’d need to slow down. The street I prefer to go downtown is lined with small homes. A few well loved and a few struggling to find a person to love them well.

When passing by, the little house with the wrought iron rails in a white filigree has been a place I’m drawn time and again.

There are bright toys close to the porch, a little swimming pool that seems to be a line the children know they can’t play beyond. Bright flowers like gerber daisies and in pots and baskets hang plants with green cascading.

I approached this pretty place yesterday and noticed a police car stopped in front, no lights only sitting parked. I crept closer and watched as an officer across the street, a highway patrol, walked towards the waiting local police. It seemed they were waiting to support one another in some assignment or something.

On the front porch, sat a frail woman alone. She must’ve looked up and saw what I’d noticed.

Her face tilted in a question, “what has happened?”

Her eyes were small and focused. Her hands folded in her lap, a lone figure on a porch on a Friday afternoon.

I let my eyes rest on her for a moment.

I drove on slowly and hoped that someone else was home. Although I don’t know, it seemed to me that something bad was going to be told to this tiny woman alone on her front porch.

I wondered if it’s a “team effort” to have the local officer help the highway patrol tell a loved one that something has happened to someone you love.

I don’t know. But, I’m thinking about this woman, a grandmother I believe.

I’m thinking about her this morning. I thought a gentle prayer.

And I’m remembering the women I met last night, women who listened as I guided them in creating collage paintings.

We started off a little cold, a bit resistant and there was a bit of laughter to account for not being quite sure of me as a woman or whether a connection with me was worth it. I remembered my prayer just before encountering these women.

Lord, help me bring joy to these women. Help me be a guide for them.

And God answered my prayers. The evening followed suit. What began tentatively ended in openness and a gentle even if unspoken connectivity.

The mood shifted. I was invited in. Strangers began to see me, and I them.

The way God intends our souls’ awareness to be.

I cannot see my soul, but know ‘tis there. Emily Dickinson

I got to come alongside the woman on the porch. She’ll never know that likely. I’ll never know what the officers were there to report.

I was allowed to come a little closer to women I’d not known before.

I offered a hand on a shoulder, a few words and some art supplies.

And me, wholeheartedly.

I touched their lives and they touched mine, subtly we were connected through our souls.

I poured into them and they me.

My artwork, a painting in the home of the host, “Overflow”, was in the background of our gathering.

Not by surprise I’ve decided, we’re all vessels after all.

As we go our souls can’t help but offer hope to one another, no need for words or grand gestures.

We’re all here and all together.

Offering what we can.

Always hope,

Lisa (Anne)