If Moses really did talk to a burning bush, I wonder how he felt trying to go to work the next day and tell his peers about it. Standing around in the morning, sipping coffee, how does one work into that conversation?
“So, what did you do last night?”
“Oh, me? Not much. I was just out prodding the cattle and, well, then this bush spoke to me.“
Whether we realize it or not, all of us have some moments where the bramble in the corner starts yapping. Big, small, crucial, circumstantial, doesn’t matter: once in awhile, you just know something extraordinary has happened. And sometimes, it’s best to slough it off, blame coincidence, think it a trick of the light, or the Bud Light.
Up until recently, my “burning bush” story has always been about finding the tiny diamond from a family heirloom ring just sitting on one of my keyboard keys the next morning after it went missing. Was the same color as the carpet I was vacuuming the day before, when it fell out of the ring, during a particularly spazzy Labor Day party. I was pretty sure it was lost forever, and pretty bummed over it.
So the next day, finding it face-up on a keyboard letter, I figured one of the girls had found it and put it there some time in the wee hours of the night. Not so. How that stone made its way to the keyboard remains one of my favorite Burning Bush memories.
Had another one of these, nearly a week ago Friday. Lest they lock me away, I’ll skip the details, other than to say it was one of the most beautiful experiences of my life – in the middle of a really lousy one. It had grace, and happiness, and a spiritual resonance that has yet to leave. Nothing was burning, though. While it eventually brought me total peace — and it could be attributed to lack of sleep — I don’t think it came from inside myself, or from anyone I currently know. I do believe that it was a conversation I can’t have with nearly anyone, at work or anywhere else. Unfortunately, parts of it involved bad events for other people, but for me it was a message of hope as long as I am willing to do the necessary work and fulfill my promise.
Since 2006, my life became pretty stressful. I’ve done things that have surprised me, both good and bad. Like everyone, I’m perfectly imperfect – and learning every day a little more how true this is. But I’ve also learned that I can rise to the occasion, when needed, and take care of the people I love when they need me. And that this is not an imposition, or some kind of “co-dependent” psychobabble; it is the action of real love, giving your hands and heart to help the people who have always been there for you. It’s messy, and difficult, painful sometimes physically and in other ways, but giving of yourself and your time are the best gifts anyone has to give.
Nearly two years later, I’m seeing not only how much that period of life took out of me, but how much it gave back. I’m no longer afraid of the day that will come – that must come – when my parents are gone from this earth. Sad, yes, but finally accepting that this is what it is. I’m also not worried about what will happen when the nest is empty, so to speak. Because it never really will be empty. The decades of laughter and tears, fights and frustrations, painful honesty and mutual acceptance between myself and the girls will keep us together no matter what changes in our living arrangements.
We are connected. We are stronger together than any of us is apart, and we make sure that we are always together, in some form.
And life will take me wherever God intends, with a little help and faith from me, and maybe even a few more burning bush moments.
