That thing with Feathers

A click of the finger; a tap of the wand
A hole in my pocket; a dream in my head
I will be lifted up; By the wings of a plane

With a jacket, a backpack and a pen, I will travel.
I breathe French air. I will settle into a chatter I will not understand.
I will be alone, the way a rose garden looks when it is pruned, before it can bloom again.

That is my feathery way of saying I clicked on a button and bought a plane ticket to Paris
I will not have an alarm clock or a gym pass. I will not have green dollars in my pocket.

Hope is the thing with feathers Emily Dickinson wrote once locked in the attic of her parents house, while looking out the window.
I can name that thing. It a bird with wings that can fly above the smog and clouds and look down on the rooftops that look so small.

I had a small revelation last night that took a 100 pound weight off my back. I hadn’t known it was there.

It was this, God doesn’t need me to take care of the poor. SERIOUSLY. I had spoken of this, acknowledging that in my life that I could do very little and so God better have it under control cuz I certainly didn’t. But the thought came to me in a new way. Like a bird flying through the fog, slowing becoming more and more visible. If I do no live among the poor, if I do not devote my waking life to being on the so-called “front lines” fighting the war on poverty it is okay. God will still win the war. God will still be pleased with me.

It is something obvious. I feel stupid to type it right now. But it is something I did not understand with my muscles and bones. It was just words on page before I learned how to read. So taken in was I by this call to justice, that I didn’t realize that Jesus was trying to call me to Life. It is simple as that. Choose life, breath, the living water. And yes justice is a part of that. I could still live in the slums of a foreign country learning a new language and washing my clothes in a bucket, but that will not be tomorrow and it will be a free choice not an obligation.