| Sunny Side Up Nov. 1, 2006 �2006, Kathleen Gibson Do what you're meant to do It was only a small sunbeam, but it found a window and climbed through. Then it spilled across the carpeted floor and found me, standing alone. I hadn't even realized I felt cold until it climbed my slacks and warmed my leg. I looked down, surprised. "Hello, sunbeam," I said. "How did you know I was cold this morning?" To which the sunbeam, (of course) answered nothing. Just went on shining and warming, which (again, of course) is what sunbeams are meant to do. It was only a single joke, but it found my computer and made its way in. Then, one frown-filled Friday, it flowed across my screen and found me. I hadn't even realized I needed to laugh until it tickled my funny bone and lifted me considerably. I read it twice, surprised. "Oh, joke," I said. "How did you know I needed humor today?" To which the joke (of course) answered nothing. Just kept stretching my grin, which (again, of course) is what every good joke is meant to do. It was only a lone pelican, but in late summer it swooped down and landed on the lake. Then it lowered its beak, proceeded to fish, and caught me, watching. I hadn't even realized I needed the reminder of purposeful solitude until it opened its wings, climbed into the blue, and circled far above. I watched, shading my eyes. "Hello, Mr. Pelican," said I. "How did you know I needed your example today?" To which (of course) the pelican answered nothing. Just continued on flying south, which (again, of course) is what all pelicans, come fall, are meant to do. It was only a short article, but it crept deeply between the sheets of a good magazine and traveled far. Then someone dropped it into my mailbox and it found me. I hadn't even realized I needed its inspired message until it slipped from under the covers and into my heart. I closed the magazine, surprised. "Hello, far-away author," I said. "How did you know I needed those words today?" To which, (of course) the author answered nothing. Just carried on, I hope, assembling good words for other readers in other homes, which (again, of course) is what all good writers are meant to do. It was but a single bougainvillea blossom, but it found my camera lens and tiptoed in. Then it crept into the photo of that shoddy shelter in Shamshabad, India and found me. I looked at it this very morning, surprised. "Hello, blossom," I said. "How did you know I'd need reminding today that one bright spot changes the whole dreary picture?" To which (of course) the bougainvillea answered nothing, just kept on pointing to life and hope and beauty, which (again, of course) is what all bright spots are meant to do. We are each only small people, in the end, but our greatest influence will always come while doing precisely what God meant us to do. Find it. Do it. Respond Home |
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