No Toad Turn Around

"Just like that," seven year old, Molly earnestly explained to mom, neither of them taking their eyes off of the tiny bubble-eyed bog critters, 

"It can be a No Toad To Talk About sort of a day and just like that it can change and become a Four Frog Morning!" 

Molly's mother had never been clear on the difference between frogs and toads; for her, they both fit nicely in the same category as leggings and crocs and door-to-door missions: ‘disgusting’ and beneath curiosity.

But both Molly and her mom understood what feeling like nothing feels like, like what you're thinking or feeling isn't as good or isn't just right enough to say out loud, to even share; that Ís a real No Toad To Talk About day feeling. 

But sometimes, right when we're feeling crummy and insufficient, out of the blue we can remember something funny or our very favorite song starts to play and we're already ready to play it again even before it's over or maybe we're just in the backyard, quietly pondering at the little pool and one more little frog shows up and suddenly makes it a Four Frog Morning.

Well, not everyone understood, how that makes it good but everyone, Mom and Dad, little sister, and baby brother, too, had favorite songs of their own and knew it doesn't take very much to turn a whole day around, how it doesn't take much faith to believe in yourself and trust the day again, sometimes sharing crayons or getting a phone call or hearing a favorite song about how the sun shines on everyone or one more tiny frog with three little frog friends, giving us a new name for a good morning, just by showing up; not by fitting in, but just by showing up, sometimes singing without permission because singing is permission, whether frog or toad, to own your pond soul, song sung, ang sang wahe guru, animated truth freed by pondering blue pool, sky promising grace, gathering voice, speaking as we, only as we I am among you, foreigner, teacher, tree, refugee, frog, and Friend, riding rails, often dropping in, disguised as in need of love, rather than its Source, Son, and Seed sent to not only seed source by son but to receive source served prasad by devotees as seva, by sincere children breaking mud pie bread, blessing make believe wine, remembering communion can happen, must happen everywhere we are, with robed choirs and incense, with a hospice nurse nearby, or with a chorus of frogs and mud pie wine.

Life held and witnessed is love.             

Love received, recycled, remembered 

is Life, grace grounded gathering 

Itself to Itself, healing, redeeming, 

restoring the wonder one more frog 

can bring. 

pdk