Broken glass gets everywhere. I have never understood the love of drunk people for breaking glass bottles, but I guess it is irresistible. There’s a waist-high wall out front and it must be a good target because we end up with busted glass on the sidewalk fairly often.
I was out there for about 15, maybe 20 minutes trying to find all the scraps. They were in the grass, in the sidewalk cracks, even up the driveway. One small bottle, thrown for one second, and it took a good chunk of an hour to try to find it all, so I had a lot of time to think.
I thought about the people who are the bottle-breakers in our lives. All of these good, loving people, but the one who gets to is is the one who shatters the bottle, says the mean thing, takes advantage. One tiny moment and the glass shatters and we have to spend 100 times as long cleaning it all up.
It doesn’t seem fair. It isn’t fair. 999 good people, but the one who isn’t is the one who makes us put locks on our doors.
I have to think of the flip side, too, of course, because to dwell on the darkness is to dwell in the darkness. The right kind of good lasts a long time, too.
One piece of good advice, one smile on a dark day. I love those people who are like talismans in my life, the unbroken pieces of glass – Julie, the sweet supermarket cashier who always asks about my mom. That girl at the gas station with the smile so luminous that I want to take her flowers.
The “A Course in Miracles” Holy Week readings contain one of my favorite quotes about how to behave. If I think of Easter, this is what I think of:
Offer each other the gift of lilies, not the crown of thorns; the gift of love, and not the “gift” of fear. You stand beside each other, thorns in one hand and lilies in the other, uncertain which to give. Join now with me, and throw away the thorns, offering the lilies to replace them.