My Whole Body Buzzes

My Whole Body Buzzes

("And he said to them, 'Go into all the world and proclaim the good news to the whole creation." Mark 16:15)

Today my whole body buzzes like a million tiny electrical bees
are coursing through every pore. Ready to cry at every sound,
ready to weep in alien silence. My brain sends signals that my
mind cannot control, less than whole, I have little to say.

But I do remember a voice, a thin voice, yet slightly wider than
a sparrow's, of a young girl struggling with her bike fallen to the ground.
She rode the sidewalk in front of me, a pink and purple helmet
protecting her preschool head.
She did not skin her knees, did not wince when she lost her balance.
She wrestled the contraption upright like she was grappling a goat,
and sat upon the seat just as I approached.

"Nice bike", said the old man walking for his health.
"Thanks," said the tiny voice scattering light like a prism.
The old man waved at the mother sunning across the street.

I continued my walk and seconds later, that thin-ray voice shot
sparkles through my thoughts, "I want to catch up with him."
Mom said something, it did not matter. I was a stranger, and my
sparrow-voiced child stayed behind.

And on days like this, when my skin crawls and my thoughts are
dark as shattered glass,
I remember I heard the good news from a Kingdom child

who simply wanted to ride her bike alongside an old man
who walks the same path in the suburbs each day, talking
to God
and hoping someone hears.