to plant seeds

 ***i am reposting today friends.  sorry if this is not new for you.  i am in a place of debate, questioning whether to continue writing, at least publicly (for i could never stop altogether).  so while i wonder, i leave you with this...***


I haven't a thing to say to her, and I try not to look at her, but my eyes keep gazing in her direction.
She is girl who is hurting in so many ways,
and I am woman who was girl hurting,
and I have overcome through Him who gives me strength,
and she can be too,
but my mouth won't open
and my feet won't move,
plastered into the sidewalk
like the horrible statue of Puck in the downtown center,
all I can do is stare...

I see me in her,
that long ago, attention hungry, willing to do anything to get people to notice me girl,
and it tears me up inside something fierce,
when I see myself,
and know what is happening,
and I know the Answer,
but I don't think I can give it,
because I know I wouldn't have taken it.

And it all comes back...
the shaking hands,
the empty stomach,
the tears and the ache and everything I wrote and
everything I did.

And I remember the Peace 
which surpasses all understanding,
how it stilled my hands,
filled my stomach
and caused that ache to cease...

And I long to give it to
girl dressed in black who
wears sorrow on her face the way most girls her age wear makeup,
but I see those who tried to give it to me,
who only pushed me further away...

and I recall the one,
the woman with children,
all smiling and laughing those beautiful smiles and sweet laughs,
and I remember thinking she would glare at me with eyes
that said,
why must you sit there, why do my children have to see you, why can't you just go away
and she would walk as far away from sad, life-hating girl as possible,
the way most mothers with their little ones did.

But then, she didn't.
Holding love together while she held her children's hands,
walking right in front of me,
so close I could touch them with my scarred hands,
she smiled at me,
real, caring, love-sending smile,
and staring in my eyes spoke words which woke my dying soul,
"Beautiful day, isn't it?"

And though she didn't give me life that day,
she was planting seeds which would be watered one day by someone else,
and would begin to sprout into this beautiful mess of a tangled but still growing garden
that I am...

I walk right by her,
silent girl crying out louder than all the noise this downtown makes,
holding hands with two of my little gifts,
and I find her eyes, dark and full of pain,
and I smile at her,
hoping to transfer love with this smile,
and I say to her,
"Beautiful day, isn't it?"

Walking away,
whispering prayers for her,
let these seeds be watered and grow...