I wonder, as I stare at Andrew Jackson's headshot--printed and trapped in dirty green--if money really is the root of all evil. I wonder if people catch the irony between In God We Trust and the currency of fear and comparison and prostration. Mostly, though, I wonder about FREE. I wonder why that word is always attached to items without meaning. Hand-me-downs. Four week old kittens who have to be neutered ($) and vaccinated ($). Food, days past expiration. I wonder if value must be drowned out in our own perspiration.
Is anything, besides grace, truly a gift?
Sometimes the one thing I really want is to see love inside a cardboard box labeled FREE. I want love to continue even in weakness and expiration and sometimes even frugality.
Four days ago, Andrew Jackson stayed inside my purse. In layman's terms: her and I were attempting a money-less weekend. We were living in (it felt like) a cardboard box.
She told me we were to write down five places that have made an impact on our lives. "We'll go visit each one," she said, her pen in hand, her hand in mid-air. And so we did. That night, I could almost feel the conflict emanating from her body. Her mind unraveled memories that I didn't have to imagine because they were all there. In front of me. In steel and concrete and pine and evening dew.
And as my lips touched hers, I knew another part of her and I knew another part of me. I knew FREE.
I have to admit babe.... this might have been one of my favorite nights together. There was something mystic about walking one your old play ground where capture the flag and *attempted* capture the girl was played. :) Or seeing the small building that your mind goes to every time we talk of church and the narrow, destructive picture of hypocrisy. Or the small smile as your eyes danced for a moment at places of delight. I love you so much Rach.
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