Ironically,
I also love hauling my leather handbags to points of interest such as the local
zoo, where I hope the animals will not recognize my accessory as a long-lost
cousin from their phylogenetic tree. On
this day, however, I opt to bring my non-leather waist pouch in order to keep
my hands on the camera. I am accompanied
by two members of my own family tree -- an almost ripe, pregnant woman who asserts
that walking will drop the baby right out of her womb and a three-year-old
princess who won’t feel complete until she feeds the giraffes. My own personal mission
is to free myself of worldly chaos and become uplifted in some way by God’s
creations.
The place is
packed so we race to the Lory cage for a chance to feed apples to the birds. Humans outnumber birds, so we wait patiently
and look around us for an opportunity to arise.
A young man near us watches a colorful bird nibbling the apple from his
hand. A tween-size girl leans an outstretched,
apple-filled hand right next to his and listens to his calm voice describe the
bird and its movements. She looks
directly at the feathered fowl, but she doesn’t see it. I realize she is blind, and I stare. It is impolite, but I stare anyway. I am mesmerized by the connection between the
young man, the bird and the girl.
She
experiences the bird through the eyes of her assistant who prepares her for the
thrill of feeling the bird move from his apple to hers. It is electrifying to watch the spark of the
bird in her hand ignite the bright smile on her face. I watch through a well of tears and suddenly
I am grateful for many things.
Walking through
the menagerie I continue to witness the miracle of humanity throughout the course
of the day. Hoards of healthy children clamor
to see the animals. White haired couples
walk hand-in–hand from one exhibit to the next.
My granddaughter giggles and squeals on the merry-go-round and now wants
to ride the train. The line at the train
station is extra long due to several wheelchairs crowded at the front of the
row, so we wait with an extra portion of patience. When the train arrives, caregivers gently lift
mangled teens from the chairs and lovingly place them, one at a time, on the
wooden seats. Other teens with special
needs are helpful, and they happily save places for their teachers and friends
on the train. The tears threaten to come again, but I hold
them back. Instead I silently pray for
angels to watch over these special children and their caregivers, all of whom
are indeed angels themselves.
Before long, the Princess has fed the giraffes,
and the pregnant daughter is exhausted but not in labor. I came to feed the animals and delight in
their creation, but instead I have been fed by brothers and sisters of my own species
who have blessed my life by just being here at the zoo today. I decide that I need to visit the zoo more
often. After all, the price of an annual pass is less
than the cost of a Fossil handbag, but it holds so much more. 
