a beautiful picture

Sunday morning at a Catholic church. A beautiful picture …she snapped a photo with her camera. Filly stomped her feet as she walked inside, like a horse in it’s first few steps out of the stall onto some crunchy white snow. The brisk cold followed her in the door as she scraped her feet.

A gentleman smiled a greeting and Filly saw some pamphlets by the door as she walked up the aisle. The church was full of families, moms, dads and many little ones. She and her sister squeezed into a row, made available to them by a lady who warmly moved aside to let them pass. Filly wondered how it was years earlier, when her sister had been at the church with all her family, six children who were now grown and off on their own. Her sister had spent her entire adult life in this church. Did her children remember her devotion to God, her efforts to raise them right, her hard work as a mother?

The priest, a young looking Val Kilmer, walked up the aisle. He looked Polish Filly thought. He gave a beautiful sermon about marriage…the marriage between God and his church, signified by the wedding feast at Cana. It was Filly’s anniversary as well. That very day. And she wondered about her five children and wondered if she, and her husband, had taught them enough about God to sustain them the way she felt sustained because her mom and dad had taught her about God.

Children…like the little boy right in front of her holding on to his dad, a tweed coated figure, strong, respectful and quiet. The dad had sleeked dark short cropped hair and a starched shirt and tie. The child he was holding looked at Filly, his red lips a contrast to his delicate skin. He had chiseled features, for a three or four year old, brown eyes and dark thick lashes. She could paint him right then and there, he was so beautiful she thought.

Then she saw the sister, also with perfect little features, also with expressive eyes, but with long thick hair and a pink dress with white tights and white shoes. She was searching in the tweed coat pockets for something her dad had put in there. She patted each pocket unobtrusively while her dad stood still seemingly oblivious.

The oldest son and a baby, were next to the little girl and beside the mom. The mom was jouncing a baby girl wearing tights with yellow shoes painted on the toes, only the tights were too long and the “shoes” were not on the toes. The baby, wearing a blue velvet dress, sucked on a pacifier contentedly and looked at the mom, who had huge brown eyes, while grabbing and releasing a thick beaded necklace for babies around her neck.

The mom jounced the baby and leaned over and gave the older son a Kleenex. The entire family was harmonious, in spite of the young ages of the children, and they looked at the stain glass windows and the statues and sang the songs and knelt and sat when appropriate. They were learning how to behave in a respectful and prayerful place. The parents were modeling that quiet and subdued behavior.

Then Filly saw a dad who looked like George in “its a wonderful life” crawl down the side aisle after an escaped baby. Once he caught hold of the baby’s leg he was able to retract the child and return to his seat, smiling while the baby cooed and gurgled. The baby was blond and happy. The mom of this baby had a tan baby bag full of items and she reached into the bag and pulled out an item for the baby.

That was when Filly noticed in the aisle another lady standing there holding a four year old boy with no shoes on but wearing nice little boy trousers and a shirt and vest. He had been crying a bit but now was distracted to be in the wings of the church.

So many babies and little children. So beautiful Filly thought. Her sister leaned over and whispered, “if we’re not crying we’re dying”…a reference Filly believed, to children sitting in church. Some think children should be in a “cry room” but the majority of families wanted their children to be with them and to learn to sit and listen to the words being prayed.

That was when Filly noticed this precious little butterball of a baby being parented by a blond, military hair style dad, and a dark haired mom in a sleek pony tail and a slim blue wool dress. The baby was probably about three months old and wanted to put everything in its mouth including the mom’s cheek. The baby’s little head bobbed but continued rooting and the mom re-positioned the baby and then handed the child over to the dad. The baby had the most perfect skin and the blue eyes of a birds egg and lovely little dimples on each finger.

This church was alive with new life, babies, families and blessings. The church leader, the pope, might be misdirected, Filly thought, but the local pastors were giving good messages to their “flock” in spite of him. God was still in charge and that which was wrong, would be righted. It could not help but be restored, because of the perfection of new life, as evidenced right before her eyes, that Sunday in Church.

Afterwards, Filly walked out, but not before telling the family that had sat in front of them, that she thought they were beautiful, and when she reached the foyer, she took one of each of the pamphlets. They were about seminarians, and prayers and church news. They had beautiful pictures on the front. Filly loved beautiful pictures. Like the one created by God, multidimensional, that she had just witnessed in church. A place where she felt uplifted and blessed at the same time. A place she recommended to everyone.