I like to light candles when I get up. This morning’s illumination put up a fight. The first two matches burned themselves out so quickly, I had to abandon them to save my fingers. Next the wick broke off. Then again. By the fourth match I had to laugh, remembering this is exactly why I never volunteered to be an acolyte at Bethesda Lutheran, and was always more than relieved when Gail Kiltie raised her hand. What’s ironic, the very thing I feared and tried to avoid — their judgement — would eventually come to pass anyway the minute my mother got divorced and we were not pushed out the door, but conveniently shown where it was while being held open. 

I don’t know what they expected the lesson to be (that’s the thing, we get to choose that). My take away — people are going to think what they think, do what they do, without your knowledge or permission. And you can decide whether you are going to blow around in all that wind, or simply fly. (I think the birds on the page, tell you what I did. What I do.)

I haven’t thought about them in years. I have no ill will. For didn’t they give me wings? And my faith is strong. My house and heart are well lit. I release myself into the morning flutter.