Author: lucinevahan

Grace Untold

To forgive, when his story differed from mine, took several meetings with God in my prayer corner. Years would not change his outlook. It took awhile for my heart to acquiesce with the command of Jesus’ words, “Unless you forgive…. .” He had to help and heal the pain with the immense love of His presence. I quickly put on my woolen plaid skirt, a top and a warm jacket. It would be the last Sunday of this year; he had already left the house for the choir.

The empty church looked barren, only five people and two children in the last two rows of the pews. In order not to be seen in the live webcast, I sneaked in and sat in the back. All of us far from each other, as if we were strangers determined not to become friendly. The masks on our faces hid any possible smiles. I saw him among the few choir members sparsely seated facing the altar. The sermon suited my intention to obey the One I yearned to follow. It was St. Steven’s Sunday.

Our discourse in the church’s parking lot paved the road to peace. We had moments of smiling faces as we drove home unmasked and still married.

Now and Then

October was not an easy month for me. I was silent, I was in prayer, I was seeking God’s face as the Psalmist writes. How good it was to receive the support of my praying friends. Not to leave out, my Friend Jesus, the King. There they are – forgive me, I will digress. ‘Hello there.‘ The crows are flying down on our front lawn. Today they saunter on the grass; well, there’s my brave squirrel, it squints at me.

November came. One more year was added to my life span with a tiny wish for returning to my youth: I wish to keep drinking my daily cup of black tea and my latte. “To avoid heart palpitations minimize the caffeine,” our primary physician had said to me. I was fifty eight then. My hair is a nice grey now.

It amazes me at times; not only the trees and the mountains like to have me around, my few longtime friends do as well; except when they are sheepish and solemn. Are they protecting my feelings? Conversely, I still need Gospel truth.

The other day I had a yearning to hike. My hiking sticks are standing by our front door for a long time. But now, I first need to call the Nature Center and register for using the trails. The autumn air is clear and blue; thank God, no California fires! My friend Carmela* moved to a nearby town, she was my hiking partner. I shall go by myself on that short trail, my bandana around my neck and my mask in my pouch. Psalm 121

*Name change

Birds in Blue Skies

I write at my desk that looks out to our front yard through a wide window. Between the rosemary bush and the wild pomegranate tree various birds come to quench their thirst. I replenish the large dog dish with water every morning and evening. Sparrows and mockingbirds stop by frequently; some dare to take a bath, wings in swift motion. Crows would come but not so often and not without members of their colony. Only a local squirrel dares to join their crowd. At times they bring a dried out piece of bread and throw it in the water, then pick up the softened morsel. These sooth my heart from a deep sorrow as the smoke of forest fires billowed toward our skies from the mountains northeast of us.

On another day when the skies were blue, my neighbor’s daughter came to the corner of our lawn. She was seated in her stroller, the dad standing behind her. The few birds by the water dish flew to the nearby bush to check out this new visitor. The child’s face was beaming with a smile. The next day I scribbled these words on my kitchen calendar:

At the corner of our front lawn, what bliss!
Comes little Lana with Dad, in her stroller.
What a surprise, I see her hand throw a kiss,
My hand waving in such glee as neighbor.






					

	
	



			
				


			
				



			
	
			
			
		
	
	
	

		

			Forceful Faith
		

	


			

			

 It was the prophet Isaiah who was sawn in two, I heard my husband say.  “Really?”  I asked, ” where did you hear that?”  “From Pastor Stanley’s* Bible Study last week,” he answered.  





In the past, when I read the famous chapter of faith in the New Testament of my Bible,  I would  focus on those who escaped perils they faced.  Like Joseph, Moses, Samson, yay!  Then came some unnamed heroes who attained feats of triumph, “… who shut the mouths of lions, quenched the fury of the flames, and escaped the edge of the sword.”  I liked this one: “Women received back their dead, raised to life again.”  These are the success stories, full of the miraculous, albeit with some harsh episodes in between.  





Then follows the abrupt shift: “Others were tortured and refused to be released, so that they might gain a better resurrection.”  What does this mean?  I would hurry through the ensuing verses.  “… others were chained and put in prison…, they were sawn in two…”  Oh Lord!





A melody came to me some years ago when I read verses from the book of Isaiah (ch. 40) in the Old Testament of my French Bible.  I picked up my guitar and sang:  “Levez vos yeux en haut, et voyez!  Qui a créé ces choses…”                 (Lift up your eyes on high and see who has created these things.)





I will sing again.





  





  





 

					

	
	



			
				



			
	
			
			
		
	
	
	

		

			My Kind of Coffee
		

	


			

			

What did I hear!  My kind of coffee came the morning I drove to my favorite coffee shop. “Whole bean or ground?” I heard him ask. “Ground, yes ground.  Number seven.” I told him. 





 “Would you like a cup of coffee?” He asked. “Complimentary?”  I inquired.   I knew it was.  But I wanted to make some conversation,  I missed talking this morning. “I’d like a small oat milk latte. Thanks.”





 I looked around.  The empty chairs seemed to mourn for their usual customers, their backs tilted on the small round tables.  I’ve had fond memories here, sitting with Todd* or Dee*, meeting friendly strangers, talking on the comings and goings of our lives. 





 I purchased half a pound instead of my usual quarter.  Who knows, I thought,  this privilege may soon vanish.  I picked my delicious smelling coffee.  Sniffing  the tightly closed coffee bag, I went over to the next counter to get my small cup of complimentary latte;  a sheet of transparent plastic separated us. The young man’s black curly hair fell on his boyish brown eyes. “It’s ready,” he said to me and offered my cup.  I tasted one sip; “It’s good.”  I said.  He was still facing me. “I’m ready for the return of the King,” I added.  





His brown eyes smiled above his mask.   I shifted my mask and smiled back.  





*Names changed

					

	
	



			
				



			
	
			
			
		
	
	
	

		

			Dark Chocolate in Fair Trade
		

	


			

			

 Only three small squares left.  Relishing the deep pungent smell of cocoa, I ate the last pieces of my favorite dark chocolate.  





Ah! A poem on love inside the paper wrapper.  I spread the paper on the kitchen countertop;  like an ancient scroll I was careful how I pressed it with my fingers.  The title read Love (III);  below the three verses was the author’s name –  George Herbert.  He seemed faintly familiar.  





The poem opened with “Love bade me welcome.”  I continued reading while  each line charmed my interest.   





 Who is this author, I thought.  I looked into my old English Literature textbooks left in my school days bookcase.  His name was not in the modern era.  Memories rushed to my mind as I recognized some of the poets’ names.  





Finally I found him, an early seventeen century Welsh writer.  I read the poem once again, on that dark chocolate wrapper.