Even though I’ve been running for miles, the meadow is still and unmovable. Just like it’s always been. My urgency is fruitless, so I force my feet to stop moving. Instead, I take in the meadow with my new life-eyes. I turn my head in every direction. I sink my feet farther into the dewy grass.
And I breathe in deeply.
Oh, the music that used to play in the sky. Each sunset and sunrise a different tune! I’d dance in fearless joy and sing off-key and my childlike heart to the Light-Maker’s rhythm pleased Him very much. The meadow memories don’t haunt me now, instead they pour over me like happiness.
I become like Young Maryn once again.
I look around and see that while the meadow is pulsing with memories of life, it remains fixed and unmovable. This old meadow holds the tale of my Maker’s love for me and a time I truly lived in it. This place has been made for me with songs and sunsets and dances meant for us. This history of the Light-Maker’s faithfulness isn’t going anywhere even if Ocean is my home for awhile.
I realize there is no Old Maryn to be found. She truly had been a moment of grace, and a thousand living geraniums swaying in the meadow breeze tell me grace is holding on and healing has had its way.
I drink in the exquisite scenes of my history. I can see the faithfulness of every sunrise and sunset in the meadow of my past, but I know new sunrises and sunsets wait for me on Ocean. And this meadow is giving me the courage to return to Ocean. No more running away from new life. No more building something big and beautiful and empty.
I am resolved to return to Ocean, but I feel weak. I wish I could stay right here in the good things that have already been. The unruly desire to build a new Island off this meadow splits my heart in two. I want to get rebelliously stuck in the debris of my lovely fantasies all over again.
Hard-learned wisdom gleaned on Ocean holds me back softly. I’m desperate for the Light-Maker to help me cross the curtain of vines once more.
I clear my throat and lift my voice to His sky.
“I want to stay safe in these good memories, and I want to build another Island with my own two hands but I know, at least for now, it is the Ocean where my life with You is loud and clear. And I desire every bit of light and flower bloom you are making for me, but I also don’t want to go back.”
My sob-like words are more an admission of how I feel rather than a request for help, but I wait, heart sinking fast, knowing my cry was enough.
In response to my desperation, the shower of glistening vines falls into my view, but it’s much thinner now. I see hints of the evening sunset through the spaces in the vines, but the curtain obstructs the fullness of the sunset. All I have to see the entire sunset is step through the divide and return to Ocean–to new and real life.
The beckoning of light is a good invitation, and I go.
The floor beneath my feet is now more coarse than lush, but I’m too busy looking up. The sky is swept with orange and splashed in manzanita hues. The wisps running softly throughout are lily white, and everywhere I look are beautiful interruptions of daffodil yellow. A replica of my dress. A sunset made for me.
I see that I am seen.
I sing a quiet chorus of off-key thank yous to the Light-Maker before running to join Aneta and Stella. As I sit beside them, I realize how profound it is that my sobs and screams have vanished into a voice relearning to sing. I’m discovering how to be that child-like girl from my meadow days. New memories are being made. Perhaps, a new meadow too.
The music of sunset claims the whole sky, and I recall every unskilled, yet joyful dance number of my history. I wonder how long it will take until I remember how to dance like that again.
I grin slowly, because I know what Aneta would tell me. . .
“Well, if the Light-Maker has anything to do with it, then it won’t be long at all.”
Copyright © 2019 Sierra V. Fedorko, All rights reserved.