The Trumpet Child
All this skin we live in, pass down, the feeling of held and of holding, it often keeps us attached, confuses the means with the end,
but the skin interaction can’t be the end. There are present spirit arms, even now holding – rich ground even now giving nutrients so we can take eternal root.
My identity is changing.
Abiding in God, maturing is finding simplicity in self-definition. I am belonging in God’s presence – no matter how good any arms feel.
Back home, where they know me as Carothers and my Mama as Henson, where my daddy’s roof is tin and he loves her native brown skin in the summer, we have Decoration Day. A town gathers at graves and splashes color as best they can.
There’s a more beautiful time coming. We gather, touch hands and enjoy it, then we look ahead – wanting to hear the music.
“You will go out in joy
and be led forth in peace;
the mountains and hills
will burst into song before you,
and all the trees of the field
will clap their hands.” (Isaiah 55:12)