Yesterday, the news was not good; we had a city stampede…!
Our mega cricket event this week ended with 11 deaths, from celebrity induced mobs; a collapsed drain…injuries.
2025 has been a rogue year this far, with Messrs.Corona rearing ugly head, plane crashes, fires, floods, wars, rumors.
Out in a walk, we saw a child feasting on old hardened roti with half a chillie, (will spare you the other details)
Back home, I have my whole grain dinner with guilt. We gave a few clothes to street woman with new baby, her husband works as security guard somewhere. She is 19, worn thin with daily labour.
My whole grain wheat dinner sticks in my throat. Which field is all this from, which farmer harvested these grains…shouldn’t I be grateful? I am.
Why does honoring any Goodness make me want to cry; the dilemma of This. Honour & dishonour, how quickly they settle into contrasts.
Am caught between gratitude and helpless awe at the seismic gap between the honored and the dishonored. This Post also fills with gratitude. What good does that do for the little girl on the street? If I start somewhere, will that restore even a 1% of any sense of honour ever given to her? Where does one begin?
Should our terrific contrasts dilute gratitude for miracles, nevertheless..? Miracles in our taps; corporation water sweeping our floors with lemon grass disinfecting floor lotion;
I inhale local night mist reeking of local pine. Today the ache in shoulders is 0.1℅. I can go for long walks again; the other aches aren’t as hostile. “Thank you,” I whisper, confused at my riot of feelings.
In the twilight am looking out at a peacock in nearby trees. Our national bird is 100 meters from where I think about the Master of our Universe. No questions asked. Am done blaming all mishap on the One Who sends tender loving rain on the good, bad, ugly of us all anyway…
am honoring all the good, I’m here to choose Gratitude.
Mr Peacock calls out to some of his girls, there’s two of them, fabulously plain and the least interested in his beauty. Maybe they look down on plume accessories as dumb.
The hours chime,
Gratitude has arms and feet and it dances a heart beat inside. I rest in the Majesty of One Who renews strength like an Eagle,
no matter the madness of a society broken in halves. This evening I’m thanking Him for every farmer and factory worker or baker and marketeer that makes our daily bread. And if I can, please God Lord, show me ways I can pay them back. Or anyone thats been wronged. Huge task. Pl show me a practical way I can. Help me step out of my boundaries, help me try turn someone’s bad news, even a little, towards the good.
Maybe I can honor one human at a time, maybe thats what I was waiting on Him to hear.
It mayn’t seem possible to stamp out the dark, but the Light does that.
(I so look forward to FMF writers, every week. Today’s word ‘Honor’ triggered so many raw emotions; my apologies for a long post that reeled off!)
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