Islands

One woman broke out a Haitian flag during an island themed Zumba song today. This prompted other people to rummage in their bags and purses for more Haitian and Jamaican flags to wave while we danced.

Had I known it was spontaneous heritage pride day, I would've stuffed an Irish flag in my bag to add some more colors to the air and represent the island of my ancestry.

Speaking of which, I recently heard a great Irish joke from a mother of six.

"What's Irish and stays out all night?"

...

Patio furniture!

Back to islands. I was an island in that class this morning as the sole descendent of ancestors who danced with hands at their sides to deter spying priests who might've seen them partying. (One explanation as to why Irish dancers dance with their arms pinned to their sides).

My bodacious sisters from islands a bit more south were indoctrinated with a lot more freer movement in their culture.

Nevertheless, we all got down in more rigid or loose ways bridging cultural divides so that no woman was an island.

And I'm grateful. Because I like southern island moves. And I don't like being an island in the traditional way that one thinks of islands --as isolated.

As I thought about islands, I imagined that perhaps all hearts are islands and Christ's love is the ocean which unites them together. The waves of His mercy gently lap the shores of the hearts of the world, softening their hard edges. His salty waters filled with fish of all kinds bring treasures from other islands and lay them on our sand.

Then we know that while we may never observe all the intricacies of the other islands, we know they exist. We delight in the fruits that we can see, and in the knowledge that we are not alone.