The Bridge

The azaleas hugging the white clapboard house stood as a stark pink contrast in the bright sunshine of this unusually chilly spring day. Once inside the gated yard more but different colored blossoms came into view. Nature’s variety and variations were presenting themselves as evidence that even blooming bushes holding the same name were the same in name only! As I crossed the threshold into the bright and welcoming home space the warm and congenial face of one who is becoming a dear friend lifted his words of welcome. He, an unwilling host to ALS, has met many challenges and continues to thrive with the loving hearts and hands of neighbors and friends. Inspiration barely describes the emotional response I have experienced at the level of care and nurturing for the physical needs of this delightful and talented musician by those who attend him. As we engage our varied and sometimes tangential conversation we brush upon opportunities to encourage and lift one another in words of gratitude, hope, and faith. We express our wonder at the complexities of the human experience and the neurological quagmire that seemingly all too frequently turns from solid ground to engulfing quicksand. We stand for a moment on the metaphorical precipice that overlooks that valley into which one could so easily plunge emotionally and we lift our eyes and thoughts to the bridge of gratitude upon which we take steps of thankfulness. We grew up in different parts of the garden and we share the same label called human. Although our blooms are expressed in different colors, the core of our roots renders us in the same human family, nurtured by the soil of faith and nutrients of grace that are watered in gratitude.