The chair

I have no idea what to say.

I say too much sometimes
but more often...not enough.

What does the world need to hear that it hasn't already heard?
And would they listen...if I offered it?

I've made a goal to myself to write more.
Writing Wednesdays.
Yet I stare blankly at the empty screen...

Sitting at a small coffee shop,
I look out the window to see bricks.
Rust oranges, browns, and splotches of yellow and green.
Aged and worn.
THEN...stuck out like a sore thumb from the middle of it...a battered up metal air conditioner.
Like a rude chipped-tooth smile in the middle of a pretty face.
The shade is drawn half way, as if to hide the half-beauty.
And in front of the window...an empty armchair.
Yet the chaos and barrenness of it all seem orderly and beautiful.
Simple.
Meant to be.
Open to possibilities.
Who will sit next in this chair?
Who will cast their eyes
and notice the unseeming peacefulness of a forgotten space?
and admire the vibrant color and wisdom of bricks, and rust, and furniture?
and allow herself to imagine...

imagine the Holy presence that may fill that chair....right at this moment...

Nothing to say? Then I will sit and wonder...and notice things otherwise unseen.

For all I truly need to do is worship.