It’s a mistake
To compare ourselves to others.
That sin do not dare —
For joy it surely smothers.
Don’t look askance
At gifts you have been given.
Grow gratitude —
Let yourself be shriven.
Joy everywhere —
Our happiness, so be it.
God is alive,
If we will but see it.
The eve of All Saints’ Day was magical, in a good way. For one, it had been raining, right up to about the 6 p.m. start of the trick-or-treating. [Ohio has townships, a subdivision of counties. The township suggests (or is it a law? I don’t know) that trick-or-treating should take place between 6 and 8 p.m.] I had been doubtful as to whether we should even bother giving out candy. Suddenly at about 5:50 p.m. or so, the rain stopped.
My husband helped by putting out a little firepit at the end of the driveway, which is a custom for many in our neighborhood. The homeowners sit by the firepit while giving out candy, and they may have a party themselves.
I wrote the following after it was all over.
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It’s quiet now. The clowns and freaks, saints and sinners, ghosts and ghouls are gone. I stand in the driveway, on the darkened and empty street, wondering what it all means. The silence after all the childish shrieks. The candy bowls empty. How did I come to be in this crazy world?
We talked with neighbors whom we don’t often see. One came over on his own, and when we got short of candy, he gave us some of his own. I went over to another neighbor after we had run out of candy again, just to say hi. I found out that the husband is related to a political candidate. When these neighbors learned that we had run out of candy, they gave us some of theirs.
Sitting with my husband by a firepit, we ate pizza and drank seltzer water between candy giveaways. A citizen patrol car drove by twice. The sounds of laughter in the neighborhood were comforting.
Shortly before 8 p.m., our neighbor to the right yelled, “Have a good night; we’re calling it quits.” Somehow I got to asking him what he did for a living, and he explained. Here was another neighbor whom we hardly ever talk with.
So quiet and silent now. The voices are gone. The air is still. The weather is mild tonight. We are blessed to be alive.
The cough that kept me up all night,
The speeding car that gave me fright,
The baby crying in the night –
But, somehow, I’m still breathing.
The wrenching pain I thought would kill me,
The choking air that tried to still me,
The people shouting words that sting me –
Yet, somehow, I’m still breathing.
The hurts I thought I couldn’t survive,
The illnesses, the loves I tried,
The wretched times that drove me wild –
Yet, somehow, I’m still breathing.
I’m thinking, now, whatever happens,
I’ll still exist, I still will matter.
My dreams and schemes, although they shatter –
My soul will still be breathing.
clarakatalin 