I don't know if it's because their mother used to say this all the time, or if you can truly inherit the "people watching" gene, but I remember seeing my mother and her sister nodding in unison; whole heartedly agreeing. There's nothing this side of heaven more entertaining than to find a spot in a public place, and simply watch people walk. I thought this was silly, of course, even voyeuristic (before I knew the word for it); until the first time I sat with them together at a shopping mall. All shapes and sizes, seemingly going in the same direction, but to places different and unknown to us, except in our imagination. Some seemed bound and determined to get there in record time; others enjoying the stroll, for the sake of the stroll itself. And some of them seemed lost, even to me; when I had not lived nearly long enough to imagine an adult ever being anything but completely sure of themselves or destination. It bothered me. I distinctly remember that.
My mother used to lean in close to my aunt; ready to point out the funny accent or less than conventional walk, but her sister was already shaking her head; having seen it. Of course, being the perfect southern ladies they were, these observations were made known to each other only. No one was ever aware they were a source of fascination or light hearted fun. Unless, bless their poor hearts, someone happened to slip, stumble, or heaven forbid, completely wipe out. There was no power in either of the two of them combined to have stopped them from holding on to each other with one hand, covering their mouths with the other, and bursting into laughter. "Oh, we're just awful!" they'd say, trying to gain their composure, and then meeting each other's eyes and dissolving into unbridled laughter.
Oh, yes, I've decided there's a gene for that, and I've inherited it, all quite innocently. I simply can't help myself.
Having spent some time this summer out of town or state I find myself taking up this people watching baton my mother has handed off to me. I wonder about them; wish I could see deeply into these most precious of God's creations; wondering if they know the One Who made them. I feel an instant bond with the man or woman wearing a cross around their necks, hoping at the same time, it's more than jewelry. I read the scripture on people's T-shirts, and then look into their eyes, almost always seeing His light there, praying they can see it in mine.
I have never passed a baby that didn't take my breath away; stop me dead in my tracks, as though he were the first and only one ever sent from heaven. But now I find myself watching his mother; studying her eyes, her countenance. I used to wonder about older mothers who offered uninvited advice or encouragement, and now I find I am one, although I rarely speak my mind. I want to tell her it gets easier; you'll get through this. The things her mother and others like me have already told her. I want her to do what we didn't; hold on...with all she has..to this fraction of time; even though she'd like to wish it away at times. I imagine her rocking this baby, wondering if she's doing it the way her mother did; praying to her precious savior, thanking Him for this gift, and asking Him to grant her the strength to accept the precious weight of it.
I once saw a young girl with her grandparents and it came to me as i watched them together that they were almost exactly alike, even from the outside. Blond hair soft, fine as a baby's; struggling to find her way in a world she's just learning; far bigger than she is. She brings them flowers they once knew as weeds, and they take them; seeing them now as she does. Delighted. Suffer the little children to come unto me.... I remember thinking, yes, I see now! He makes us more like these precious ones just before He takes us home to be with Him.
I stand on the outside and see them all now, making me smile, cry, laugh, pray. He reminds me that we are His greatest joy, never taking His eyes off of us for a moment; never sleeping or slumbering, seeing us all in a way we can never hope to grasp, deserve, imagine. He tells me we make Him smile, laugh out loud, even weep at times; this thought too beautiful to believe, although I do. With every part of me. I remember a beautiful soprano voice and think about the words... His eye is on the sparrow. And I know He watches me...
"Keep me as the apple of Your eye; hide me in the shadow of Your Wings" ~ Psalm 17:8
Wednesday, July 13, 2011 at 09:25AM 