Entwined Lives 
As I placed the lid on my garbage can, Rudy shot past me like a lightening bolt!
I shook my head, with his mother so ill, how would she ever tame such a wild colt?
I went back inside and finished getting ready to go visit my own deceased mother.
Tending to her grave was a routine of mine among others.
After my monthly visit as I walked back to my car, I saw a beautiful man standing between two graves.
Within his right hand he cupped something precious, as though it were being saved.
Something drew me to him and I don't know why?
But a deep sorrow over came me and I really wanted to cry.
He looked up at me and nodded though tears streamed down both his cheeks.
Not wanting to stay, something told me to, and then he began to speak.
"You see these two people," as he pointed toward the dirt covered mounds.
I shook my head, yes, and knew in my heart he was about to tell me something truly
profound.
"They are both gone from the earth forever more,
but because of a lack of compassion and willingness,
other souls will suffer and many lives will be poor."
Then he opened up his hand and there sat a ladybug.
"One of God's tiny creations, such a small thing.
But, oh, the power of it and the hope it could bring."
I was overwhelmed, I thought I recognized this man's face.
Being in my mid-seventies, my memory lacked the grace.
He seemed to have a glow about him and a holy peace.
But I was deeply troubled by those beautiful, sad eyes and tear stained cheeks.
"This woman," as he pointed to one resting place, "had been kind, used her gifts
and lived her life mostly full sail.
Though the world saw her as important, in her pride, God's perfect plan is what she
failed."
"And the other is a child, never destined to become a man.
But, oh, the power and healing in him, if only he were guided to fulfill God's perfect
plan."
The man's words filled my heart with dread as he spoke of things the woman did and
I became afraid.
His sorrow was so pure and holy for the two souls, who at his feet laid.
Sir, tell me what I really can do, my heart longed to say.
As if reading my thoughts, he answered in a most peculiar way.
"This tiny creature shall inspire the child to desire to write.
And if this child is guided, his words will have great might.
He will grow in wisdom and write an award winning poem for his ill mother.
Then it shall be read, a cure of goodness will be given because the poem will inspire
another."
I was so startled I gasped, how did this man know I was a writer?
I sat up and looked about me, realizing from my bedroom window, the sky had
become much brighter.
Was it just a dream? I prayed for an answer, for a sign.
What did it all mean? And would I be given the time?
Though Rudy was eight and worried my garden flowers with his badly aimed basketball.
I never really spent time with my small neighbor. I really didn't know him at all.
So today I decided rather then scold him for his careless aim,
I would try to develop an acquaintanceship and learn
more about him than just his name.
With sheepish eyes, Rudy, peered over the fence as I opened the gate for him and
tried to hand him back his ball.
But instead of grabbing it with both hands, he didn't take it at all.
"Rudy," I said, "would you like a drink of lemonade?"
He began to smile and asked, " Could I borrow your pretty garden for some special
friends I just made?"
Then he added, "My mom says you're a writer."
"Yes," I replied. " I have written romance novels all my life."
"I don't know about mushy stuff and things like that, but if I could write, it would
be about Fred and his wife."
"Oh," I said.
"And just who is Fred?"
"Can I please put them in your garden?"
"Ok, but only if you promise to write that story about them," I said, as my heart
felt a tug.
For sitting in Rudy's upturned palms were two tiny ladybugs!
Rudy's smile spread from ear to ear.
He promised he would and even read it aloud for me to hear.
Just then his dad called, "Rudy, time to go."
He grabbed his basketball and off he ran.
I saw the lift pull his mom in her wheelchair, into their van.
Rudy's face was pressed against the van's back window as he waved goodbye to me.
Tears welled up and I started to cry for my heart knew he would never grow up, it
was not meant to be.
And sadly I thought of his parents, how would they take such a loss. I whispered,
"God why?"
Then a tiny miracle happened as if in reply.
My favorite garden statue was an angel bent down on one knee.
With an outstretched right hand as if pleading for the world to see.
I wiped the tears from my eyes with the corner of my sweater to make sure the angel
was what it seemed.
For now I knew whom the face belonged to in my dream.
There in the angel's palm sat Fred and his wife.
Tiny creations from God who had so blessed my life.
In that moment, the angel helped me to see how our lives circle into a divine, entwined
band.
For Rudy would write his poem and someday inspire another to help fulfill God's perfect
plan.
Copyright 2005 Jacqueline Ann Piech
