The Bulgarian And The Brit

My mind was racing and my heart was full, so I decided that a return to the park was in order. The peaceful [albeit industrially imposed upon] surroundings would do much in the way of bringing me back to a steady stance. I grabbed my Bible, and the blanket; loaded everyone into the car and headed out.

Dropping off Israel at class, I could feel my internal gears beginning to shift, to relax. I chose to meander the circuitous walking path several times, before I selected the spot in which I would settle in for some prayerful meditation.

The evening was perfect. Keller and the DellDog were both extremely content, and my reading material was a pristine antidote toward restoring my soul. The hour passed by uneventful, as the usual number of exercise buffs was diminished.

I noticed her because she was beautful. The petite blond mother of a baby about one year old. Her perfectly coifed and freshly cut hair framed her face, which was hidden behind oversized sunglasses. Up, up, up she climbed on the various playground equipment - calling to her son, laughing together with her husband, who delighted in the boys' primary sliding accomplishments alongside her. I watched for some space of time, the love-birds and their nested one.

I turned my attention back to reading.

When Dell unexpectedly jumped from his recline, I looked up, suprised to find that the baby and his mother had migrated our direction. Reeling Dell back in, close to my side, I spoke in reassuring tones that he was contained.

She drew near.

I really didn't feel like talking, but it was obvious that the baby was very interested in our little set-up, on the grass, in the park. Stooping on the ledge, she began to inquire of me various motherly-type questions. I let down my guard, such was the strength of her captivating innocence; the simplicity of her presence.

Chatting, chatting . . .she spoke of this and that, and the other . . .and of communication back home with her family. Her comments, coupled with her halted English prompted me to ask: What was her ethnicity?

Bulgarian.

I began to understand her beauty.

She inquired of the meaning of Keller's name, and the ethnicity of it. Why did we choose that name? This is the equivalent word in Bulgarian . . .

She lifted the dark, heavy frames off of her face, and onto her head, revealing the most stunningly beautiful blue-green eyes I'd ever seen complimenting a tawny-creamy skin tone. I drank her in with my eyes, wondering all the more. Her simplicity was ever more apparent.

Void of the hautiness; the vanity; the self-centered demeanor I've encountered so often here in the big city ~ I wondered if she were a Christ-One.

Continuing her chat, she then posed her question to me: From whence did I hail? My ethnicity? As I told her, she blushed, and turned her head away slightly.

"I thought you were British. You're not British? You sound British."

I smiled inwardly, choosing ot not laugh outloud and startle her, knowing the countless number of times I've played the uppity English accent for fun.

"No, I'm not a Brit." (But I could play one on TV I thought!)

As the conversation closed, and she turned to leave, I invited her back to our little cove, should she see us here again.

Watching her return to her beloved, my eyes followed her in prayer.

Lord, if she know not You, I ask You to draw her to Your Kingdom. Send laborers into her harvest field, and show her Your glory.