The Shoes

He sat two seats down from me in the emergency waiting room. His weathered face and hands spoke of a man who had spent most of his life working outdoors; perhaps as a farmer or rancher. He was very neat in his appearance, of small stature, elderly, sitting slightly bowed. The way he tilted his head, with one side leaning more forwardly than the other, gave me the impression that he might be hard-of-hearing. He strained to hear, though ever so slightly, towards the loud and agitated words coming from his wife as she spoke presumably to their son-in-law about the nature of their daughter's wellbeing after having been in a car wreck.

In his hands he held a pair of black patent leather pumps, not stylish in today's fashion of pointed toes and stiletto heels. He held onto them tightly and lovingly as though if he could just hold on long enough and with great vigilance, even through the confusion and mayhem about him in the emergency room, he could hold onto the life of the owner of those shoes, his daughter, who was somewhere behind doors closed to him in the care of others.

There was a quiet stillness about him as he was so intent about his singleness of purpose. I felt that as his wife, the mother of his daughter, fretted about the whereabouts of the purse of their beloved, that he, having the possession of something belonging to her, gave him a power over the outcome. While his face showed concern, it was also slack with a peacefulness that his mission of willing his daughter, his once little girl, back to life would indeed be fulfilled. All it required was his steadfast love and patience and all would be right so long as he held onto the talisman; her shoes, to walk the journey to reclaim life.

"Tickle" Weeds

While lying lazily in my hammock yesterday, I observed what we in East Texas call a "tickle" weed. It is neither as large nor magnificent as the "tumble weed" of West Texas. However, its personality is much the same: that of a wandering vagabond searching for a place to come to rest. During the course of a day, it finds many such places, only to be set out on yet another journey by a puff of wind. Thus, it might travel about in a very seemingly random pattern since it is at the mercy of the whim of the wind that drives it.

As I gently swayed back and forth in my hammock, propelled in part by a stick I use for such purpose and in part by a once in a while strong push from the wind, I realized how very similar to that tickle weed am I. I can be ever so still and serene, and here comes a puff of life's upsets that sends me spinning out of control and out about in a whirlwind of emotions and not well thought out actions. I become much like the vagabond without a place to anchor myself; driven this way and that, and seemingly going nowhere in particular.

I have also observed that I seem to be propelled in this random fashion more by the two-legged large forms of nature than by anything else. Upon interaction with the human species, I am tossed about much like the tickle weed leaving my home of serenity and stillness. My inner self is calm; but with the "push and pull" from my fellow creatures, my outer self tumbles about trying to control my whereabouts; only to the disconcertment of my inner life

But I have noticed also that the tickle weed comes to its final resting place amidst many of its fellow weeds; driven likewise by the same wind to a place of rest from which it is safe from the coming and going of movements of the air anymore. One of my major areas of growth I strive for is to be able, like the tickle weed, to be safe and secure amidst my fellow beings, without feeling apart, driven by a need to stand out or a need to control either my surroundings or my companions in this journey. In other words, I would like to find the fine balance between being one among many and still maintain my sense of self comfortably set off by my boundaries of self.

Being so anchored, I would find that the winds of life would not toss me about here and yon randomly, but I could travel about comfortably under my own propulsion and not be a "tickle" weed randomly blown about by the whims of outside forces.