The Masterpiece

Even the choirs of birds are mindful of the quiet of this Sunday morning. The tide doesn’t move and is still over the marsh grass. Goddess bows on Shirley’s sad little holy dock. In the distance a lone kayaker floats across the Back River which is glistening in the morning sun. The sky is painted deep blue and the lush green trees stand proudly in contrast. Red, yellow and purple flowers mean that the bushes are wearing their Sunday best.

It is a holy day.

Every morning I take Goddess for a walk. Some mornings are more special than others. Today God has painted a masterpiece! I find that I can’t move because I want to be a part of it. Goddess seems to understand this. After all she is a dog who believes that she is a person. She lies contently, almost prayerfully, at my feet.

So I stand at the end of the sad little holy dock and raise my arms in Thanksgiving. This is the day that the Lord has made.

Indeed.

No one is out and about on this part of the island. They’re getting ready for church or standing in line at the Breakfast Club. Many are still sleeping while others take long drags off of cigarettes and try to remember what yesterday was like. Runners are running and walkers are walking along the beach. Somewhere someone is singing.

I figure it’s a good time to count my blessings. After a shitty couple of years, I am happy. On a morning like this I am mindful of the special things that have made me so.

Somehow, I’m still not quite sure how, I was given the gift of time ... to be quiet … to have solitude and time for reflection. I was able to take inventory. Over time I began to notice the things around me in new and deeper ways. Sitting on this dock or underneath Fran’s thousand shades of green all of the hurt in my life began to … heal.

I’m not one to dwell on regrets. I did the best that I could and, sure I screwed up some along the way, but everybody screws somewhere along the way. It’s just the way life works. Sure, if I could do things over again I would do some differently but we don’t get to do things over again.

Over this time, I’ve thought long and hard about this. There are a handful of regrets. As much as I would like for there not to be any, they are. Uninformed decisions, poor choices or selfish reasons were the foundation of each.

Sometimes it was me just being me and having to pay the consequences It’s amazing to me the people who don’t want me to be me … who I am. They want me to be someone else. They want me to be who they want me to be.

To hell with them! There is unholy evil in that. God made me. I trust her to be live my life as me. They can go to church and pray for me if it makes them feel better.

But … I feel fine.

With my arms raised on the end of Shirley’s sad little holy dock I say a one word prayer.

“Thanks”

And at that moment, the choir of birds burst into their songs. The sun climbs higher and sprinkles more diamonds on the Back River. The lightest of breezes suddenly kisses my face. Goddess stands and nudges my leg. A dolphin jumps and returns to the same hole in the water that she made when she leaped into the air.

All of this happening at the same time takes my breath away.

God’s not finished with her masterpiece.

She’s just getting started.

And I’m gonna play.