An Rud A Lionas An Tsuil Lionann Se An Croi

I had been thinking of rainbows a lot. It was June and companies and merchandisers were taking full advantage of Pride Month by slapping rainbows on everything. On candy, on t-shirts, on make-up, on mail trucks. These Roy G. Biv images were fresh in mind as I took a shower. I thought of the rainbows that frequently appear in our backyard after storms, of the term rainbow baby , of Noah's Ark, of the movie Thumbelina .  " After the rain goes /  There are rainbows /  I'll find my rainbow soon" Was it true that there were always rainbows after horrible storms? The realist-side of me balked at this idea. As I toweled my swollen belly off I mused that while there is always hope, there's not always a happy ending in the Hollywood-sense. Ladybugs and cardinals and orbs of light aren't going to suddenly start appearing everywhere to soothe your broken heart. Tragedies befall people all the time. It's sad, it sucks, but that's the fallen world we live in. Givin

  Statue by Bruce Wolfe I was at the doctor's the other day with my daughter for her check-up. The scene that seemed so bizarre a few months ago is familiar now - the spaced chairs, the social distancing markers on the floor, the usual pile of old magazines gone. My baby smiles at the masked faces that talk to her, their eyes shining with delight even if we can't see their mouths. This is normal for her, sadly. It's all she's ever known. It's busy at the office so we end up waiting a little longer than usual. There's a large circular window that overlooks the street below, so I bring her to it and sway back and forth as we look at the passing cars and trucks and the enormous windmills of the college campus across the road.  An old woman, small and thin but not frail, dressed nicely in white pants and a shirt with purple flowers and purple sneakers to match, sits nearby. Another woman, taller and more filled out, maybe in her late 50s or early 60s, sits with her

 I was sitting in the movie theater with my dad, waiting for Jurassic Park III to start. On the screen a bank robbery scene played out; men in suits with their Nokias stuff money into bags and flee to the roof where a getaway helicopter awaits them. They seem to be in the clear, cackling merrily, when they suddenly get pulled backwards by some invisible force. The camera pulls back to reveal the helicopter trapped on a spiderweb spun between the Twin Towers, its rotor twitching like the wings of a stuck housefly. Spider-Man . My dad, almost forty-one, was visibly excited. Spider-Man was his favorite superhero, I remember him telling me. He loved the comics as a boy. The web-slinging hero, he told me, was just a kid. He didn't have the money that Bruce Wayne had; he made his own tech. He wasn't an adult with the confidence of Superman. Just a kind of nerdy kid from New York, an orphan, with a good brain, a good heart, & powers inherited from the bite of right-place-right-ti

There's a beautiful picture I've seen posted on social media several times over the last few days. In between the screenshots from the video of George Floyd's horrific death and the photos of rioters interrupting otherwise peaceful protests is this snapshot of a toddler George, fast asleep, and snuggled up against his mother.  It's an image I'm very much familiar with, especially these days as I spend most of my time feeding my one-month-old. So often she falls asleep while eating and I get the joy of gazing down on her peaceful face, perhaps with a big smile similar to Larcenia Floyd's. It's also an image that I see time again in the myriad of depictions of the Virgin Mary and Christ child. In my home, in my church, in my son's school, I see it everywhere. Statues, paintings, refrigerator magnets, artwork from my nieces and nephews. Sometimes Mary is smiling, a small, gentle smile; other times she is gazing wistfully at her son, who is often sleeping

Last night, as I got up to go to the bathroom for the third time (#pregnancyproblems), I found myself thinking back to each time I found out I was expecting. Four of the five times in that very bathroom. My reaction each time has been slightly different - fear, surprise, immense gratitude, tears of joy. What must Mary have felt when the angel appeared to her? From the Gospel of Luke we know she was told to not be afraid, that she was greeted as only a handful of women in history had been greeted, that she wondered at the words Gabriel spoke. And we know she said yes. A young, betrothed woman from Nazareth said yes and the the world was forever changed. What did she feel in that moment? Joy? Terror? But still she said yes. These are, for many, scary times we find ourselves living in. There is fear of the virus itself - of getting sick, of losing loved ones - and of the fallout - joblessness, increases in abuse and suicide. Every day we're faced with a choice, to say yes or no

Years ago I was required to read a book for a psychology class I was taking. I couldn't tell you the title of the book or the name of the author, but it was the story of her struggle with undiagnosed mental illness. The book chronicled her life, the highs and the many lows, as she fought through what she later found out to be bipolar disorder. Prior to diagnosis she had several failed romantic relationships. One, she recalled, was especially passionate in the way many fantasize love to be like, or ought to be like. Romantic gestures, amazing intimate encounters, grandiose proclamations & poetic compliments. Like something from the movies. But in between those moments were periods of violence, anger, jealousy, bitterness. Neither party was mentally healthy & it was abundantly clear by how they treated one another, how they viewed & valued one another & themselves. By the time I was sixteen & reading this book I had learned a few things about love, mostly abou