You Jump, I Jump, Jack

I can usually sense when change is on the wind.
It comes in various ways.  Usually a stirring of ideas crossed with a knowing in my gut and an impression of particular prayers.  Despite the strong emotions, I’ve learned that change comes to me with little urgency.  It’s not like the fella whose knee begins to ache before the rain.  This sense of change is much more like Target’s mid-summer introduction of school supplies–it’s the alarm which provides, if nothing else, an abundance of time.
Change isn’t usually as bad as it seems.  At first, though, it seems to loom on the horizon (ironically, kinda like those school supply reminders of summer’s end) but when the wheels hit the road, I tend to find that there is momentum and grace.  And plenty of it.
So, in these deep recesses of my being, I get prepared for the bend in the road ahead.  I batten down the hatches, so to speak.  I ready and steady my mind, my plans, my emotions.  I dream and I write.  Prayer starts to satisfy me like food.  I pack my bags, I say my goodbyes, sometimes I go shopping.
 I suppose this subject of change like the many other things I ramble on about, are really just over-philosohpised observations.  Yet to the credit of time, I find there is something very releasing in setting words to the proverbial seasons of change.  It makes the transition easier.  It categorizes it in my memory.  It makes me to feel bigger than the overpowering and oftentimes uncontrollable change at hand.
Sometimes I feel like a shard of glass being tossed in the ocean.  Insignificant, fragile.  Yet, the glass, without fail, finds its way to the depths, slides across the beds of sand and eventually makes its way to the shore.  When our eyes scout for the pure white or the deep and striking blue at water’s edge, we dive forth and with fingers curled, gingerly accept the treasure brought forth by time.  As we brush away the sand, we feel the frosty, smooth surface and the seamless ends.  The sand, which held the glass and changed the glass, refused to etch away the engravings and the unique ridges its creator endowed.
In an instant, we think, wouldn’t it be lovely to draw together the remainder of those pieces to see just what we’re missing?  Then we collect our thoughts like good adults, we tuck the shard in our pocket as we scan the horizon and chuckle at our tiny curiosity.  The shard makes a new home, filling in a gap of a mosaic or coloring the bottom of a flower vase, perhaps even decorating a string of jewelry.
Mysteriously,
 everything’s not lost.
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