When bad things happen I ask why. Why. I’ve wasted significant chunks of my life asking this question- why disease, why does love end, why hurt a child, why war, why hate, why hunger, why greed? The list goes on because life burns with incomprehensible suffering. I don’t think I’ve ever found a satisfactory answer to the question of why and I doubt I ever will. It’s funny though; when good things happen I don’t ask why. I say yes, uh-huh, thank you, may I have more of this? More, more, more.
This afternoon I opened my mailbox, my squeaky-hinged, birdshit-spattered brown mailbox, and found some happy inside.
A book-sized cardboard box from Amazon. I love book-sized boxes.
S, did you order something?
No. Maybe you ordered something by mistake. (Yes. Likely.)
Inside: a beautiful book of poetry whose title poem makes me cry.
I’m almost certain I know who the sneaky little elf is, but I don’t want to make a mistake so I’ll just say it here…
Thank you. Thank you for the book; for the love, hugs, and beauty wrapped up in every word.
And one more thing, this time said with joy and gratitude– why? I don’t deserve this.
I carry with me the kindnesses I’ve been given like poems in my heart. Have you been given a kindness that still buoys you?
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Today’s poem is for friendship, for my secret book fairy, for every kindness that has lifted me like a hot air balloon.
Kindness by Naomi Shihab Nye
Before you know what kindness really is…
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