Love Isn’t Always A Single Red Rose

My new bathroom flooring is that of a Roman mosaic and after giving this some serious studying from the comfort and vantage point of my toilet throne, I’ve finally been able to decipher the pattern: One white tile followed by nine grey, a white, seven grey, two white, five grey… Of course all things mass produced will hold a pattern. If we look close enough at humanity we should also see the tiles repeating themselves with mechanical precision…

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I watched my daughter on her final day at school release a balloon into the air along with her classmates and I got it. It sometimes takes a while for me to understand a deeper thought process but I felt it on this occasion. Like a cold drink passing down the chest into the stomach. I know all too well my seat on the conveyor belt of time isn’t always a comfortable ride; strapped unable to move; simply observe and take some joy in the journey. The balloons taken by the wind scattered into the sky clinging briefly to one another; some low, some high, all eventually escaping from the cluster; becoming tiny specs venturing into the daunting wide openness alone… The symbolism wasn’t too difficult even for someone like me to appreciate. I need mine spoon fed, in sheep’s clothing.

 

balloonrelease

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A friends’ dear grandparents recently died within two days of each other; like two gentle swans swimming into the sunset to be together for eternity.  For my friend however it would have been comparable to driving rain on the windscreen without any wipers. Lines of pattern, if they did exist, blurred with tears of sorrow. Window seats on the conveyor belt are heartbreaking at times and faithbreaking… wait, that’s not a word? Surely faith can be broken just as easily as our heart. God appears to martyr His angels by making them suffer an unfair and utterly unpredictable life. A precious gift freely given that rattles, broken in its’ hastily flesh wrapped box. Where are our much deserved decorative patterns?

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Each day closer to death; leaves falling from the branches; not symbolism just nature responding to stimuli. Trees growing towards sunlight and scattering a myriad of dancing shadows upon the path below – there is no pattern. Thank God for that. There is no ‘modus operandi’ to this world as he too sits on His throne and works out the complexities. But whatever piece of the puzzle we hold individually, it links us together in one big extraordinary adventure. The next generation will take compassion, wisdom, kindness and laughter to every corner of humanity they touch; a balloon will always be a balloon no matter where it travels. Our ancestors also had the same hallmark stamped upon them – ‘To be the best with what we are blessed with’. Thanks for adding The Lemon Circus as a stimuli, and hope it wasn’t too much of a struggle 😉  May we all uncover some finer detail to a much bigger purpose and lay our own legacy into this jig-saw for the many generations to come. Stay blessed – you’re awesome that way.

 

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