Some Mother's Heart Is Crying

 Global expansion is inching its way, step by step, across planet Earth––but some mother's heart is crying.

Lives are being laid down in the Ukraine, Sudan, North Korea, Egypt, Syria and Nigeria––some mother's child is dead.

Hate, spirited by greed and power, makes men do the detestable; violating the rights of other human beings––some mother's heart is bleeding.

Some mother's child in Nigeria is kidnapped from her school and thrown into a story that will mark her life forever––some mother's heart is broken.

Every second, a mother is crying on this planet as she:

• Watches her child destroyed by a bomb in a war that she didn't start  
• Sees her child struggling against a disease for lack of proper medical care  
• Looks at her child starving from hunger in a world where plenty abounds
• Observes her child drinking infested water that has enough bacteria to kill any animal.

Somewhere, some mothers' hearts are crying.

Flowers, gifts, travel, and good eating––highlights of frenetic busyness design to show the priceless value of women and the joy of motherhood on Mother's Day.

"What do you hear, Prophet? Tell me, what do you hear?"

"I hear the wailing of girls who have been kidnapped, sold into slavery, and sexually abused; I hear the voices of the Amintas', Shjahwanas', Aishas', Asmas', Deborahs', Ruths', Esthers', Kwantas', Kummanis', Larabes', Jummanis', Fatimas', Palmantas', Aistatus', Kabus', Yayis', of this world." And The Prophet began to cry.

"Prophet?"

"Shh, Shh." The Prophet whispered.

A dark cloud appeared, and covering his ears, The Prophet said, "Oh, No!" And he shook his head as uncontrollable tears streamed down his face.

"What is it, Prophet? Tell me, what do you hear?"

"Some mothers' hearts are crying."

Yet, we celebrate Mother's Day.

Shalom,

Pat Garcia

Thank You

The Child looked at The Prophet, her big brown eyes clouded with tears. Mr. Whale was ready to take off to his winter retreat, and the lily pad had banked on a large patch of seaweed near the cove that rose upon the embankment of the small island they had chosen for a rest until The Child had once again found her rhythm in the newly acquired skills she had learned.

"Prophet?"

"Yes, Child?"

"Same time next year?"

"Your Mr. Whale will return same time next year."

"And the lily pad?"

"The lily pad will be ready to go by then too."

"And you, Prophet? Will you stay here with me?"

"If you want me to, I will, Child."

"I want you to."

"Thank you, Child."

"Thank you, Prophet."

The Child looked on the water at Mr. Whale. He was slowly treading out into the deep water.

"Thank you, Mr. Whale," The Child yelled out loudly. "Don't forget to come back at the right time next year. I love you." Then she turned to the lily pad and said, "Thank you, lily pad.  I love you too."

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To participate in The A to Z Blog Challenge is an enormous effort for a writer. Your support, your listening ears, your comments, your likes on Facebook, your tweets on twitter were gifts for which I am profoundly grateful, and as The Child said to The Prophet and The Prophet to The Child, I say  to you, thank you.

Shalom Aleichem.

Peace to you.

Shalom,

Pat Garcia

Zing

"Zing zing, zing," sang The Child, sitting on Mr. Whales' back as she zoomed by The Prophet. The Prophet lying comfortably, his body stretched out on the ocean observed her.

"My, you're zesty this morning."

"My seaweed tea tasted very good this morning, Prophet."

"Then you must drink the same kind of seaweed tea next time. It makes you hum like a hummingbird."

"Really, Prophet?"

"Yes, really. Zing once more."

"Zing, zing," said The Child and Mr. Whale zoomed with zest. Suddenly, The Child heard a sound coming from The Prophet.

"Zzzz, Zzzz, Zzzz."

"Prophet, are you sleeping?"

"No, Child. I'm resting my eyes as I look at you have fun."

"Why do your eyes need rest, Prophet?"

"Good question Child. You'll find out the answer one of these days."

"And when will one of these days come, Prophet?" The Child asked as she and Mr. Whale zoomed passed once more.

"Child, I like your zingy spirit. It makes you zesty and curious."

"Is that good, Prophet?"

"Sure, Child."

The Prophet got up off the ocean and returned to the lily pad. The Child was having the zingiest  time of her life.

"Zing, zing, zing."

"Come, Child," said The Prophet. "It's time to zing forward."

"Zing forward, Prophet?"

"Yes, Child. It's time to move on."

"Will I come back here again?"

"No, Child. Your footprints fade as you walk out your journey. No one else can walk them, but you."

"You mean they disappear?"

"Yes, Child. You'll still be zinging but at another point in time."

"Wow," The Child said, and she stopped zinging; Mr. Whale stopped zooming, and flipped her playfully on the lily pad.

A faraway look came in The Child's eyes.

"What are you thinking, Child?"

I shall be telling this with a sigh,

Somewhere ages and ages hence.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood.

And I, Prophet,

Well, I took the one less travelled by,

And that has made all the difference.*

Shalom,

Pat Garcia

*The Road Not Taken. Robert Frost. 1916. Published in a collection. Mountain Interval

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Road_Not_Taken

Years

"Years go by quickly," The Child said to The Prophet.

"Why, Child, you were telling me a couple of days ago that the year was going slowly. What makes you say that?"

"Because Mr. Whale seems older and my lily pad has begun to droop a little."

"Child, change happens. It's a daily process you can't stop. Just as seconds turn into minutes, and minutes into hours, and hours into days, and days into weeks, and weeks into months, and months into the year. Change is a valuable part of your journey."

"Wow, Prophet. Does that mean I've changed too?"

"Of course, Child. With every passing second, every passing minute, every passing hour, every passing day, every passing week, every passing month, every passing year you are changing and becoming more wiser and beautiful."

"Oh, Prophet, I love the way you say things. But am I really beautiful with every passing year?"

"My Dear Child, walking out your journey, dancing to your music, has given you a glow that brings out your beauty."

"Even when I mess up?"

"Yes indeed, Child. That's part of the journey."

"So, my year has been good even with my mistakes?"

"No, Child. Your year has been excellent because of those mistakes. If they hadn't been in your path, you wouldn't have obtained that beautiful glow on your face."

The Child lay on the lily pad thinking while rubbing Mr. Whale on his right side.

"If that's so, then I look forward to next year, Prophet.

So is it, Child. I do too. Let's treasure each year as it comes, and The Prophet began to sing softly in his baritone:

Should old acquaintance be forgot,


And never brought to mind?* 


Shalom

Pat Garcia

*Auld Lang Syne. Robert Burns. 1788