Innocence and Reality

In my innocence I grew up believing in the goodness of people and all things. My parents and grandparents modeled this in front of me. I saw in them patience. Joy. Human warmth. Integrity. I felt their love and affection. I observed and absorbed their goodness.

I grew up extremely sheltered because of this. My world was small, provincial, full of church life.

I had great school friends. As a teen my buddies were not necessarily honor roll, but they were smart, athletic, and fun to be around. My girlfriends were cute, clever, flirtatious and, yes, honor roll. Aren’t most girls?

In college I wanted to be a broadcast journalist. I loved my speech and radio and TV production classes. But then, after an emotional church service I attended, I believed, as it was described then, that I was being “called into the ministry.”

It wasn’t until I had my first rural church as a single, young, naive minister, barely out of college, that I began to understand there is a darker, often jarring other side to life.

I never knew the church could sometimes be prejudiced, elitist, and even cruel. That some ministers could be arrogantly ambitious, jealous, and petty.

I never once thought my marriage would one day end, that in all the various forms I would later fill out I would check the box marked “Divorced.”

I never dreamed that in their early 20s three of my siblings would be diagnosed with a slow-developing debilitating and ultimately fatal neuromuscular disease. And that my twin brother and I would not have the gene and be spared it.

I had no idea my youngest son Luke as a toddler would endure a botched surgery that would leave him with a lifelong scar on his face, though you would never know it now. Anyone who knows him never sees the scar, only Luke’s handsome features and his extraordinary persona.

I didn’t plan that my precious and amazing grandson Austin would, only a few days old, be diagnosed with Down Syndrome. And yet his cleverness, his brilliant smile and laugh, and his little warrior spirit has taught me a tenderness and love I could not have known.

And so, life deepens and often humbles us. And sometimes brings us to our knees.

In my early innocence I believed everything was good. Now in my later life I know there is more to it than that.

I also know that with its mystery and misery, life is still astonishing—and sprinkled—if not with rainbows, certainly many clear skies and a warm, beaming horizon.

If I had five minutes to evacuate--what would I take with me?

If I was told there was a bomb in my building and I had five minutes to evacuate my apartment I’d grab a grocery bag and quickly toss these items into it: 1. A photo of my grandparents, Mom and Pop and me, when I was 15 years old. I learned what love is made of from them. I learned what it is to be kissed on and hugged in arms so tender they felt like God’s arms. I discovered self worth from those two angels in human flesh. Of all the people in my life, they were the ones who made me feel I counted. Honestly, whatever capacity I have to love others came from them. 2. A sentimental, dog-eared, stars in the margin copy of Pat Conroy’s, “The Prince of Tides.” It is a book I have read three times and often return to for its wisdom. It is a harsh, profoundly tragic novel, the story of a family so broken and tortured by such flawed and wounded people that it is sometimes difficult to turn the next page. And yet it is the story of such Herculean courage and endurance that you want...

I Saw the Delicacy of Life

I was flying Across the deep And I saw the delicacy Of life Wrinkles on the faces Of the old So pure they glistened Like awards The joy of children Running with abandon Their laughter ringing Like chimes in the wind I saw the soft moving waves Across the sea And the trees releasing Their rainbow leaves Birds joined me on my flight And I saw the surface of their wings Adorned with patterns Glorious and unfurled I saw the tears of the sad And the smiles of the glad The suffering in mourning And the celebration of birth As I descended toward the ground Slowly, slowly, softly I saw the gentle grass of the field And smelled the fresh earth It was a perfect landing © 2018 Timothy Moody

Actions Make a Difference

“We make progress in society only if we stop cursing and complaining about its shortcomings and have the courage to do something about them.” ~ Dr. Elisabeth Kubler-Ross, Physician/Author Pictured here is Kikuko Shinjo, 89 years old, a survivor of the Hiroshima atomic bomb blast. As a 17-year old nursing student she helped nurse victims of the carnage back to health. Many of them died in her care. She says she holds no grudge against America and encourages interaction between the Japanese and Americans. She has devoted her life to peace, saying, “I want all the people around the world to be friends, and I want to make my country peaceful without fighting.” Today she makes colorful paper cranes and donates them to the Children’s Peace Monument at the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park.

The Unclad Soul

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