Wine Bottles

 

Wine bottles stand empty on the counter…

Corks lay strewn across the bar…

The effervescent sound of champagne uncorked on a summer’s evening has ceased.

Guests greedy for love, life and laughter have drunk the plump fruits offered by the hearty reds.

Wine glasses sit on the tables,  their empty bowls a memorial to an evening of joy.

The sound of laughter echoes on the evening breeze.

The couple is still dancing…nestling into love, greedy for its rich promise, unaware of empty bottles standing on the bar.

Unaware that their day is about to have words like scarcity, lack and not enough attached to it.

Oblivious that the news reel of their wedding day is about to change.

But among the guests is a friend, a woman, a mother who offers the gift of connection and presence.

She sees what is about to happen and chooses to connect with the complexity of the problem.

To want to see her friends day filled with fullness, a full day, a full wedding.

So this big hearted mum, whole heartedly connected comes to her son and says,  “They have no wine.”

Like so many sons he doesn’t want to engage with the issue.  He pushes back on her but she refuses to take his no for an answer.  She knows he can connect with the problem, she knows he can be a solution, she knows what’s inside of him.

He is wanting perfect.

He knows that he has within him the ability to be a solution but he wants perfect.

The perfect moment for heaven to announce his identity, his purpose.

But the mamma simply wants her son to love her friend.  To connect with the one in front of her.  To alter the news reel.

We will never know heaven’s plan A.

We only know that his moment of purpose and identity were revealed in a mamma’s love for her friend.

Her desire to wholeheartedly connect.

Whole hearted connectivity isn’t always easy.

Betrayals hurt and erode connection.

A secret gets shared publicly that was never meant for public consumption…

Defriending on Facebook happens and you don’t really know why.

You invest into someone, given them your heart and then there is the decision that they want someone else, someone bigger in their life.

Betrayal hurts and makes us not want to connect ever again!

But if I’m truthful the pain begins long before these significant betrayals occur.

They begin when the person I love begins to disengage.

When they no longer have time for green tea and don’t want to ask you questions about love and life.

The ready, warm hearted, open smile… love’s embrace doesn’t seem to be quite so ready.

The whisper in your heart that there is more being unsaid then said.

I think the pain begins in the little moments like leaves on a summer’s breeze whispering all is not well.

It’s hard facing those rustles.

 

The decision to cover over little pains in love or to have a conversation of the heart can cause our hearts to lie awake of a night time…tossing and turning…

We live in a world where friendships come and go, where connection isn’t protected and guarded.  We like to pretend it doesn’t matter.  But it does.  Those little things matter.

My heart has been confused when friends have disengaged and yet I know I am guilty of disengaging.

Betrayal when it comes is almost a relief because my confused heart can give its fears a voice and label what has gone wrong.

But before that I am often too timid..

To give voice to the fear and pain.

Sometimes I get so frustrated with my own unintentional disengagement.

Those moments when I don’t see like Mary saw.

Mary caught the smell of the wine bottles giving their last notes to the wedding party.

She saw the words lack and scarcity hanging over her friends day.

She cared that laughter be present.

The real time news reel she knew would become the memory that she didn’t want for her friend.

I love her desire for connectivity.

To choose to connect with the issue, to make a difference, to intentionally build into her friends life.

It’s always the little things isn’t it.

The little whispers of, “How are you?”  ” I see you.”

The making time to be present.

To whole heartedly connect.

I’m not Jesus and I can’t turn water into wine.

I can’t stop the niggles or disruption in other people’s hearts.

I can’t stop those silly girl murmurings that we bring against one another.

There is so much I can’t do.

But I can choose to grow in learning how to be present.

To see my friends.

To give this thing called whole heartedly connection a go.