“Then the traveller in the dark…”
this one is for your child.
is for all those who giggle while chasing bubbles.
is for all of those to small for big hats but to big for baby teeth.
is for tiny hands.
“…thanks you for your tiny spark…”
I had no idea, none, that a child would read me. That a child would care for a busted up gray haired old guy.
A busted up old gray haired stranger at that. But then into my Inbox, came this:
My 11-year-old daughter has read some of your work and found out about TTS (Tackle The Storm), and she loves the idea. Her class has prayer time every morning, and her teacher says she asks for prayer for DB every day. She says, “I haven’t met him yet, but he’s my dad’s friend.” From the mouths of babes huh?
this one is for the children,
and especially for an 11-year-old who prays for busted up old gray haired strangers.
Stay you, hold out as long as you can before becoming us.
Chase bubbles, find the faces in the clouds, eat with your fingers, giggle, feed the peas to the dog, color outside the lines, skip.
Dress up in momma’s high heels.
Dress up in daddy’s tie.
Just don’t become them to quick. Slow down this time you are in, get ice cream on your nose, chase the cat, cuddle.
But don’t worry about old busted up gray haired strangers.
“…he could not see which way to go…”
Here’s a secret mommy and daddy may not have told you yet, but someday, as you cuddle together, as you do chores together, as you fish together, or as you sit next to their hospital bed and hold their hand here’s a secret they will whisper to you…
…we still see faces in the clouds.
I still chase bubbles that float in the breeze.
We still cuddle.
We still get ice cream on our nose.
I don’t chase cats though, don’t like cats, but I still scratch behind the puppy’s ear.
If I could run, I would still run through leaves.
If I could still jump, I would jump into ocean waves.
I don’t eat peas.
I giggle so hard that sometimes soda comes out my nose.
I cry so hard that sometimes I even get the cold side of the pillow wet.
I miss my mommy.
I miss my daddy.
I still name goldfish.
I have given the parakeet bits of pepperoni.
I don’t make my bed.
“…if you did not twinkle so…”
We live on a rock that floats through space.
And we call the rock, Earth.
We have pretty things on the rock called Earth.
We have brand new snow that coats the trees.
We have rainbows and roses, ladybugs and peacocks, the smell of rain, red leaves next to green trees.
We have, you.
I believe in magic because I see it in every crowd, every event I’m at, don’t matter none where the event is, at every event, there is magic.
And the magic, is you.
When I see you, I see the future.
When I see you, I see the past.
On the prettiest rock floating in space.
On the most magical rock floating in space.
It is the child, most beautiful.
It is the child, most magical.
“…as your bright and tiny spark…”
Honey, think young as long as you can.
See this world as the magical place it is, put down the TV remote, put down the game controller…and step outside.
Feel the grass between your toes, I was three years old before I could go outside in bare feet, and to this day I still remember looking at my white toes on the green carpet of grass.
the world tickles.
And you know what,
Let the world tickle you.
Snort apple juice out your nose.
Feel mud on your face.
Hold grass stained elbows up to the mirror.
Lay on your side and roll down hills.
Skip rocks, jump with frogs, catch fireflies in jars,
but always let them go.
‘…lights the traveller in the dark…”
Honey, know this,
this magic rock that floats through space, is your rock, we are just holding your place in line.
Pray for the strangers, but pray also for the rock.
Pray for all those who stand on it.
The old, like me.
The young, like you.
Pray for us all.
Pray for the miracle of all life on the rock.
Pray for the creatures who share this rock with us.
Honey, here’s another secret, it’s what the universe whispers to the rock floating in space.
It whispers…Love…what you don’t like.
Respect differences, but love all, alike.
Pray for “db,” but say a prayer for us all.
For your teacher.
For the kids in your class.
For the children you know, and don’t know.
And for yourself.
“…though I know not what you are…”
My 11 y/o daughter has read some of your work and found out about TTS (Tackle The Storm) and she loves the idea. Her class has prayer time every morning and her teacher says she asks for prayer for DB everyday. She says I haven’t met him yet but he’s my dads friend. From the mouths of babes huh
When I read this to Barb, she cried.
As did I.
I cried, not because I’m getting busted up health wise and now have children praying for me … not why I cried.
I cried for joy … flat out snot through your nose happiness.
I cried because no matter how much we complain about what happens on this rock floating in space, about how screwed up the government may be, about how bad the economy may be, all those daily gripes …
… I cried, because, in spite of all of that, we have somehow managed to raise children who pray for strangers.
And that is truly,
stuff of the stars.
“… twinkle, twinkle, little star.”
Twinkle Twinkle Little Star
From the poem