After Her Prayer: something beautifully strange

Standing quietly, a daddy watches as his son sleeps. You see, it was not too long ago that this handsome child faced death. An unknown form of cancer first attacked his right and then his left lung, however, Johnny survived. The doctors were at a loss to explain the origins of the disease; they knew not from where it came, but the horror had found a host inside the boy’s body. Weeks passed without improvements, and as the child’s condition worsened, even hope, it seemed, was left without a comforting place.

Then one night: something happens, something beautifully strange.

A woman enters Johnny’s hospital room, she is unknown to the nursing staff; and of course, to the boy’s family. She seems demure, but then who could tell, really. Strolling across the floor, she slightly glances over at Johnny, and then makes eye contact with his parents. Un-remarkably, she says, “Hello, I am Joanna,” but offers no last name. A lovely cloak lightly graces her thin shoulders; although something of her assures strength, power, presence. Hello, says the child’s parents, and then asks Joanna what she wants, here.

The physiognomy of this woman is precise; she appears as poured from archaic molds, creatively constructed by the ancients. Nothing seems left to chance. Surely, any man knowing her tenderness is the envy to any woman with imagination. To every eye, fleeting glances are merely phrases.

Speaking quietly, softly, Joanna explains, “Your son’s sickness alerted me, and I want to help him.” Naturally, Johnny’s parents are reluctant to permit a stranger closeness to their son; and yet, after attentively listening to her, and appreciating that the woman desires only to pray for him, Nigel and Julia relent; however, they feel and exact caution. The woman is closely observed.

Leaning nearer to the sick boy: Joanna extends her hands above his chest; after which, she halts, looking to the boy’s father. Holding out her palms, she then asks that daddy rests his palms inside hers. Reluctantly, the man follows her instructions. Immediately, Johnny’s dad withdraws his hands, the woman’s palms are quite warm, although not of a burning warmth; still, the sensation surprised Nigel, caught him off guard, but then shaking it off, he replaces his palms.

“Yes,” Joanna says, “you feel the warmth.” The woman demonstrates such comfort, and confidence, so much so that Johnny’s parents relax, and then believe that they feel, perhaps, what this strange woman feels. Placing her hands atop the boy’s chest, the mysterious woman softly speaks. Some words are unfamiliar, of a different, and archaic language and others are in English.

After her prayer, Joanna opens her eyes, leans closely, and then lightly kisses Johnny’s right cheek; as she gently presses his forid, with her opposing hand. “I must go, now.” “Bless you.” Uncertain as to whether they briefly looked away, and in a blink, it seems, the woman no longer stands before them.

The event occurred three years ago; and his loving parents, his family and friends have the strange woman to thank for Johnny’s health; and because he comfortably rests at home. The boy’s team of doctors remains amazed by what “…appears as good fortune, and luck.” Such events, imply the doctors, have little to do with “… ‘mere prayer,’ anything foreign to medical science.”

Somehow: The strange woman departed, unseen; additionally, the Elevators never arrived to the floor. Nigel, and Julia feel deeply indebted to Joanna, the woman is outstanding, special and because the boy’s parents ‘believe,’ they wonder, “Could she be ‘more’ than special?” In her memory, Julia scripted a poem; it hangs above Johnny’s bed:

 

Mother

Of you, I seek compassion
Your shoulders bear my weight
Eyes forever watching
Your smile endures my fate

To life, you are mysterious
To me a hand to hold
My sunshine every morning
My cover when I’m cold

Troubles are your homeland
Sorrows dark and deep
Your love consoles my pillow
My dreams in restful sleep

The mother to a daughter
Alone you raise the son
If lost and needing hope
To you our spirits run

Hunger understands you
Thirst you pacify
Desire to help commands you
To you all children cry

In church, I often see you
Your stare a glancing gaze
Stillness speaks of wonder
You light my nights my days

In school you sit beside me
At lunch, you share my food
Forever I can call you
You’re always in the mood


Outside: The pleasant roar of the rains, the artistic crackle of thunder wrinkles the fabric. Lightning brilliantly, beautifully paints the skies; and beneath it all a son peacefully sleeps as his father, watches.

Copyright (c) 2003-2017 Delbert H. Rhodes

I Love You (So Much More)

sadness

The marriage has suffered years of hurt, pain and sorrow. A couple has lost its smiles, laughter and hope. Sometimes hope is the burden of a dream…

“…Every time I see myself
Walking out the door

I look back and then return
I love you so much more

Who decides what is right
Alas, forever wrong

Emotional waves pounding rocks
Our currents much too strong

Your eyes speciously impose
Deeply, I love you dear
A twisted maze of terrible lies

Still, I am standing here

Many times I gave you love
Somehow: it failed to reach you

Summon, I would, an ancient Scribe

For only he could teach you

This heart pierced by thorns
My pains you never feel

A pretentious cross we bear

This lie we live is real

For you I give my life
Could you ever ask

Your eyes open slowly

You close your eyes too fast

Within the misty nights
Sullen stars stream by

A mesh of tearful tapestry
Inside it shadows cry…”

Copyright © 2014 Delbert H. Rhodes

Un-Wrapping the Words

Menu Grammar Check

By Delbert H. Rhodes

Flowing upon the page words form living chains, strings of text for everyone to admire.

Grammatical portrayals of punctuation, style, and phrase abound and although seen remain invisible to uninformed eyes. The expression “Family Dining ‘At It’s Best!'” demonstrates improper grammar.

The neuter pronoun it as used here in the Contraction form (It’s) rather requires the Possessive form (its) without apostrophe, and as such erroneous grammar cannot hide. Naturally, one hopes that the error was intentional so as to make some sort of point. Terminologies enthrall, persuade, discourage, and overwhelm and even abhor us. They are a mixed bag of human emotions; and thereby, control us as readers, and listeners and as people caring to peruse the written page.

Expressions may be similar, or altogether different still interpretations are as diverse as are the people exposed to the scripts.

The world of words opens us to the worlds of the past, present and future; it recaptures childhoods, makes us cry out in the night and helps us to constructively analyze events living in the yesterdays of tomorrows. Searching bestows treasures unavailable without a willful inquisitiveness.

The lyric of song fills the air with musical passions; rivers of imagination float us away. We drift, as would aimless canoes propelled by rushing waters. Fantasies groping and swelling; our faces brightened by big eyes in the face of twilight; the coming day offering the end to suffering and the beginnings of joy.

I love words, they challenge me to take risks; while daring me to look inward at someone or something difficult to bear: something I, preferably, would ignore or deny. Words, and the manner in which I make use of them, “make use of me;” and difficult though it may be, they forge a better person.

An Architect drawing images of illusion: The Writer titillates the fancies of individuals creatively reaching beyond their grasps. Circumstantially, every venue stirring the imagination, steeling the mind. Each word, phrase, clause the pinnacle of artistic muse by manner of creative genius.

“Ideas, and no matter their seeming fixations are flexible, lending to modifications and the ever living will of change.

If the world of words, and the graciousness abounding within their elements were attractive then what one finds and understands is that words offer something nothing else can; and that is the opportunity to create reality from unreal sources. By bending truth, and fiction and making dreams come true the world of words helps us to believe.

Meeting the challenge lives in the hearts of the daring and the risks may be great. Whatever one’s truth or fiction unearthing the treasures of text demands searching, finding, and then un-wrapping the world of words.

Copyright © 2013 Delbert H. Rhodes