Not a Word

 Yesterday I drove Tyler to Kaiser for his follow-up appointment after his cataract surgery. When we arrived, I dropped him off so he could check in. I parked the car and found a chair in the front entryway of the building. I knew Tyler could easily find me there when his appointment was over. I soon settled in, and I appreciated the natural lighting that shone through the glass doors. I had a book with me, but I often set it down to simply watch the people move in and out of the building. Some appeared to be in poor health, and leaned on a companion or a walker for assistance. Others looked to be confused about where they should be. They looked anxiously about seeking direction from somewhere or someone. Fortunately, an information board was close by to help them get their bearings. Those who were coming in to do their morning work were easy to recognize. They wore prominent badges and moved with a sense of assurance of knowing where they were expected to be. Alameda county has a diverse population, so I was not surprised to see a few women wearing beautiful hijabs. Other women had hair that was either in disarray or tucked under a baseball cap. However, one woman, who walked slowly with a walker, had her hair pulled up and back, secured with a beautiful silver clip. Not a hair was out of place. Another older woman had tucked a plastic plumeria blossom in her hair. I remembered the scent of that beautiful flower and I silently thanked her. There were men as well. Some wore clothes that were very tidy. Others, well, not so much. Everyone wore masks. Everyone appeared to have some place to go, even if it was only to return to their car. 

I found it interesting that in the midst of those comings and goings, I was one of the few who was not expected anywhere except right where I was (Really, that is true for all of us.) I was grateful for the reprieve. I was also grateful that author Diana Butler Bass had given me something to think about. In her book, Freeing Jesus, she comments that the English translation of logos in John 1:1, as Word ( "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God")  was actually a poor translation. She writes, "Logos means "ground or speech or expectation... the very ground of divine being, the breath of God, the presence of the holy in and through all things." Having never felt particularly inspired by John 1:1, I was grateful for the reminder that I was sitting in sacredness. I became aware that I was breathing not just my own breath, but the breath of the movement all around me, and of life even beyond the building. In that moment I heard not a word. I knew only life sustaining breath. I also knew that in that breath healing and wholeness could be found.  

  

  

image: plumeria, San Leandro, 2014.