Magical Metaphors

I often find myself thinking over words and how they may be a metaphor for a larger situation, as if they are a Freudian slip. And I love to find this deeper meaning in everyday things because it makes the world a limitlessly interesting place. There are two recent things that I can think of that are examples of what I am talking about.

I was sitting on the bed and my husband crashed down on the bed and sighed saying, "Aahhhh life" and rubbed his face with his hands. I then said to him, "you don't like life"? And he responded by saying, "it just gets annoying sometimes" and after a pause he smirked and said, "and it sticks to the bowl when your done". I smiled and let my mind wander....
I picture a bowl with the crusty cereal stuck and dried onto the sides and I think of this scenario like life itself - when we are done with our life we aren't gone, but we leave things behind, the good we've done, the people we've impacted, our career's work, our children- and like Life cereal, we stick to the side of the big bowl we existed in. Even still, we stick to the sides of the bowl way before our life is done and that is something that makes life taste good ;)

The second example is when we first moved back up to New Jersey, I put many of my framed photos on top of some shelves we have in the living room, partly because I didn't know where to put them and partly because I know my daughter likes looking at the pictures and rearranging them. Well, of course she rearranged too many times, pretended they were either serving plates or pieces of cake, and proceeded to brake one too many frames that I had enough and took them away. And as any mother knows, or any person in a frustrated moment, when you do something hastily, you may not execute the chore completely. So I cleared all the frames away except one which was pushed back far enough that she couldn't get it, and it stood there with a glass sculpture we had. So what was once a very busy, cluttered shelf top, was now bare with the exception of these two unintentionally placed items. I looked upon it a following day and jotted this poem down:

She took everything away
without plan or regard
as two year olds do
leaving a sculpture of a glass hand
holding a wounded bird
and a picture of you
and me.

When I look upon the
shelving top
the ill-placed items
remaining haunt me as if
they stand for a reason.

Are we wounded?
Am I holding you
or you me?
Or is this little magical
two year old telling us
"you are hurting, but
you are resting in His hand".




.....I love the magic of life complimented by the magic of youth.