If it was just 'til St. Patrick's Day

we'll be alright.

At an outdoor event last year (iPhone)

“We should take a ride tonight around the town
And look around at all the beautiful houses
Something in the way that blue lights on a black night
Can make you feel more”

“And if our always is all that we gave
And we someday take that away
I'll be alright, if it was just 'til St. Patrick's Day”

---

While driving my young grandson home the other night, on Route 66, I heard his sweet voice say, “Nana, I love how the sky is so blue on my side of the car, and dark with lights, on your side.” We waited a few months for one of our special dates. Each one epic because children have hearts of gold which leaves me reflecting like the windows we were looking out of.

There is nothing like the noticing of a child. A mind that races with felt observation, uninhibited, even in the dark of night.

On the way to our date we spoke of my childhood memories in second grade. I tell him that I’ve almost got the formula down for a magical spray to keep him little and in first grade forever. Sealed in innocence, pure giggles, and loving arms. I saw my own children, and the line they crossed over by Jr. High where time was brief and grownup challenges entered their thoughts. Awkwardly staring out the car window as if I was the cabbie. Please stay little. Please keep hugging your mom and dad, write out your stories and dreams. Tell them you love them.

There was the little boy in second grade who chased everyone that would run from him and a little girl better at drawing than a seasoned Disney cartoonist. How I got to know the school nurse from, yep, running straight into a pole. Oh that boy!!! And the odd game of Dodgeball, where me this little British girl seemed to be the target. My grandson laughed out loud.

The little girl a prodigy.

One day, I remember entering class, in the hustle bustle, when suddenly another student quickly pulled the chair out from under the brilliant, porcelain-faced girl. She fell before I could scream, landed in a puddle of her own tenderness, embarrassed and shaken. I can still see it 57 years later and I am heartbroken.

The car went quiet for a moment. “Nana, I think I know this person. I don’t know if she is still alive, but I would like to meet her. She is special.” My grandson, who dreamed his date for a week, drew his ideas out in ticket-like form, and greeted me with smiles bigger than the sun, knew of this girl without seeing her. The little boy who loves art to infinity and beyond.

We might think everything is falling apart, but in these moments, it’s not.

I was going to break this verse down for a future Sunday Amen, but I will break it down for an amen of days. The world is too big for us to anguish and languish over.

There is much going on in the spirit that is unseen and unheard.

“By faith we understand that the universe was formed at God’s command, so that what is seen was not made out of what was visible.” Hebrews 11:3

As a photographer by trade, I used many a lens to see. The lens through which we comprehend creation, or our eye, means we rely on God’s word, although we cannot physically see it. Many times I was left in awe from the stare of love, the sunlight twinkling, or brought to tears by a grandparent’s face. For the painter, His word is active in shaping and forming the universe. And the creative soul who sees the visible world, they must know it came from something entirely invisible, as they too create from the spirit within. This which refers to the weight of God’s mightiness and unseen nature. The Master Painter, Potter and Creator which lies within us as we were all formed in His image for a purpose.

The concept of trusting in something unseen to understand what is visible around us. The blue in the night sky guiding us home when there is nothing but darkness and unseen stars in a whirl of blinding candela driving machines.

A child who sees and hears in pure form.

What moves around us, through us, below and above we will only come to trust that God knows far more than we do. And while anything feels unsteady in our lives or in the world, we are to take our life as a blessing, our bodies as temples, and carry on trusting in the process. A process moved by mere men and women on a mammoth chess board with the One, the Only Arbiter watching. Jesus came for the pain of the world. He weeps. We weep. We live for each day we have.

Holy Spirit help us. Help them.

Even if it’s just ‘til St. Patrick’s Day.

We’ll be alright.

Blue sky at night on Fuji X-pro

The true story of St. Patrick:

St. Patrick was born Maewyn Succat around 385 in Kilpatrick, Scotland. At the age of 14 he was captured during a raid of his hometown and taken to Ireland to work as a slave, herding sheep. Ireland was full of Druids and pagans at the time, so Maewyn learned the language and lifestyle while in captivity.

During his servitude in Ireland he never forgot about God and prayed every single day.
Six years after capture, God came to Maewyn in a dream and told him to leave Ireland by going to the coast. So he did what God said. He took a ship back to Britain and found his family.

Once home, Maewyn had another dream in which the people of Ireland were asking him to come back and teach them about God. So he began studying to become a priest and eventually became a bishop. Upon this, Maewyn took the name Patrick and was sent to Ireland to bring the Word to the Irish people.

Patrick preached over 40 years and converted all of Ireland. He worked many miracles and wrote of his love for God in “Confessions.” After years of living in poverty, traveling, and enduring much suffering he died March 17th, 461, at Saul, where he had built the first church.