SHE was seventy, with mischief in her eyes! She’d always had mischief in those eyes of hers, as bubbling teen, those eyes beguiling her host of friends with their naughtiness, enticing young men to stray close, then mesmerizing them forever that they like petrified rock, never moved afar again from spicy, titillating gaze that held them for a moment then left them forlorn as she bolted from their grasp.
Her mischief flowed like gentle stream, not a gushing river, in words she playfully uttered, and her voice, sometimes like a strumming harp, sometimes like lofty pipe organ, and oh yes, oft like a high pitched violin held those words she said, and lifted the spirits of those fortunate to be close by. There was a mischief in her that bewitched all those around. And that same mischief still remained, in her eyes, her voice, her gestures, and her movements, though slower, still like a master magician entertaining an audience, entranced to subdued stillness, as they longingly look and asked for more! And there was more! Always more, of fun, of joy, of laughter, some infuriatingly silly, some incredibly uplifting, both a needed medication to those who came nearby.
How, I asked myself, could same mischief remain for over half a century I’d known her? I’d seen many, oh yes many filled with same laughter and eyes that glinted with flirty naughtiness but as years rolled by, their eyes, their smiles, in rolling with the punches of marriage, and parenthood and situations, dimmed and finally disappeared! But hers remained, nay not just remained but had grown on with years and today as I stood watching her, now all of seventy, I walked nearby and asked quiet like, what it was that kept those eyes lit, that kept her spirits high.
Was it a good marriage, and as I asked, I saw a moment of grief for a loving man who we had laid to rest in cemetery down the road. But her eyes were bright again, and then I saw her move her head, and as I watched her gaze lift itself, beyond those of us around her, beyond her also cheerful sons and daughters who had her joy and as we watched her gaze she looked up to the One above, and smiled, an innocent, wicked smile, of someone who totally, completely and fully trusted the Maker of Joy and Laughter!
And yes Mischief too! She was seventy and she had mischief in her yes! And it was in her worshipful gaze to her God above, we knew her source of laughter, and yes of mischief too, was there for each of us, and suddenly we smiled, and broke into joyous laughter, each of us, and yes pure mischief too..!
