Dr
Ellen Wilma Margareta Josepha Elizabeth Jermini
We
have all wondered from time to time about the creation of the world.
We would like to find out who, what, where, why and how God is. It was
not surprising that it was so with Melissa, my seven-year-old neighbor
who came visiting me with her hair dancing in the spring breeze. Her
eager eyes penetrated my being as she questioned me about things I
often wondered myself now I had to give an answer.
I was arranging the kitchen drawers when Melissa lifted up Monica, her
Barbie doll, and demanded to know all the answers at once. Then just
as quickly she gently turned to comb Monica’s long blond tresses.
Lovingly and confidently she dressed her with a wardrobe from the neat
costumes she carried in a small pink suitcase.
Melissa was born as I was holding her mother’s hand since her
husband was away in service. Even at birth her inquisitive nose and
bright charming eyes penetrated everything and everyone. Everyone
calls her "their" special girl, curious to know everything.
"What is God," Melissa insisted again, breaking a brief
silence. Her curly blond hair bounced up and down, as she looked at me
square in the eyes with her enchanting alluring significant eyes.
Seven is the time of great interest challenging to my thinking
searching for a clear and simple answer.
You want to know about
God? Well, God is your lovely blond hair, God is your radiant smile,
God is you mommy and daddy, God is your Barbie doll, God is everything,
I searched my mind for the truth to be straightforward, knowing that
this would be an ongoing long long query time.
 "Everything
is God!" she questioned me while pushing her chair closer to me,
ever so much closer to me. Her cute little snub nose virtually hugged
the kitchen counter, she watched me making order in my kitchen
drawers. Demandingly she lifted her finger and pointed directly into
my face and said, "You are God too!"
I had to smile. "Yes, I am God too. God is your doll too," I
said casually pointing to Monica being held upside down by one leg as
Melissa searched my face again and again, not quite believing that
everything, EVERYTHING, is God.
"Really, Melissa, God is your doll’s long golden hair, its blue
eyes and its tiny ears, God is Monica’s pink suitcase there in the
corner and God is even the dresses you carry in it."
Intuitively she cuddled her doll lovingly in her arms. Disarmingly she
leaned over her beloved Barbie saying, "You are God, you are
God," she whispered these precious words in Monica’s ears,
snuggling her ever so gently.
For a few minutes Melissa surrounded her doll with a tender embrace.
Then her eyes watered and she looked up at me with a hopeful look in
her eyes and asked with all the goodness that was within her,
"What does God do?"
Melissa wanted to know more. I felt overwhelmed with the
responsibility this beautiful youngster had placed in me. The tears
she shed were tears of joy in becoming closer to her divine self, her
God self.
"God does everything, as it IS everything." I sought
illustrations to make my point clear to my little friend. Just then
the golden sun flashed through the window. I pointed to the sunbeams
splashing on the kitchen floor.
"The warm rays of the sun are God; it gives warmth and light
during the day. Just as the moon and the stars you see far out in the
clear night sky, each is God. They each shine for you and speak to
you. Listen carefully! The sun, the moon and the stars are only a few
of the voices of God s talking!
"God can speak!" Her wonderment illumined an innocent spark.
"God speaks.
"God speaks to us as we quietly take time to carefully listen.
God’s voice sounds in us as the warm feeling of love, every thought
is God speaking very clearly to us."
I felt overwhelmed. Once more she pierced my eyes with her glance,
compelling me to speak ever more lovingly and gently to fulfill OUR
question.
"You see, up there on the hills, God is also those rocks, the big
ones and the small funny looking ones."
Melissa attentively listened, "Do they speak too?"
"They speak as you listen," I smilingly answered my little
neighbor angel, so smart and innocent.
"God speaks through your giggles and surprise, through thoughts
like chasing a butterfly or trying to catch a cloud in the sky,"
I assured once more.
"God is the little buds of springtime everywhere around in every
tree, in every flower. Can you imagine each of those flowers growing
wild in the field, those tiny belly flowers almost invisible until you
lie on your tummy and put your eyes right on the ground to look with
Monica all those beautiful long and short ones in the woods, near the
rivers and in your mommy’s garden. They all are God. God is all you
can imagine, all you can think of it is all God and all talks to
you."
After an endless pause Melissa inquisitively looked across the counter
at me. Hesitatingly she asked again, "Are you sure, really sure,
are you sure my doll is really God?"
"Your doll really is God!"
Her
bright eyes sparkled with comprehension and she shouted out to me in
confidence and realization, "Then Spot, my cat, is God! My dumb
little brother Ron is God!" She accepted the facts now with ease.
"Right
angel," I agreed. I felt empty and yet so full. I left saying
more to a long silence.
"If everything is God, why do you throw God in the paper
basket?" She watched me sorting out things from my drawers. Her
questions continued to surprise me. I thoroughly loved it.
"All and everything is God," I calmly reassured her and
myself.
"You can make choices of what you like in your world and what you
do not like in your world. That does not mean that those things you
get rid of are bad. Just so I make space for my new and beautiful
things. I let all the old stuff go. One day you might choose to be
riding a beautiful bicycle. Your doll remains always your doll even if
you leave Monica alone and play with your new bike. All God. All is
good. All is very good even things you lay aside and do not play with
for a while.
As I looked into her accepting face I thought of the many useless
items I discarded. Just then I found two old grubby packages of flower
seeds: Dahlia and Zinnia. I remembered they had been there forever.
Smile, worthless, dried out stuff I thought careless dumping them in
the wastebasket.
"No, no," Melissa screamed! "They are God! They are
beautiful flowers. Look how beautiful the picture on the package
is!" She gently picked the flower seeds out of the basket.
"They are beautiful!" she cried. "We must plant them in
my garden. They are God! They look nice in my garden."
"All right, all right, all right!" I agreed, taking Melissa’s
hand holding the seed packets. I was ready to fulfill her confident
expectant request.
"Lets prepare soil. If you find three flowerpots you can plant
your seeds." As two intent children we worked in those
flowerpots, already seeing flowers growing in her miniature garden.
As we sow, so we harvest,
I thought, watching Melissa carefully watering her freshly planted
seeds.
I mused; indeed with God all things are possible. Her caring,
her love, her enthusiasm to see the flowers, they had to be already
blooming, already created as a colorful happy abundant flower garden.
Many years have passed yet Melissa still shines in my heart and
thought. Memory is a joyous tool to relive the past. As I see the
beautiful Zinnias and Dahlias, which brighten the front of my home,
the Citadel, where I live and Melissa lives again and forever.
I remember: Indeed, God is everywhere. God is all. Who, what, when,
where and how? God is me and everyone and everything. God is all. God
is the eternal now. God is omnipresent. God IS! Yes, Melissa, I
remember!
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