521Aug 1, 2014
He builds conversations out of her gratitude. Â Right now, while I write. Â I stop typing to listen, to respond, to touch him on the cheek. He stands just a few inches shorter than me, all bright blue eyes and sun-drenched skin, so golden brown he looks warm to the touch. Â When he speaks with intention, […]
522Jul 25, 2014
Sometimes we finish the day in rags and mud, and the things we carry cover us like a tomb. Â And it’s testimony to the Light in her that even though she’s afraid to be embarrassed, she says I can write about this, our walking through together. In my arms, she trembles. Â “I just want to […]
523Jul 18, 2014
Afternoon, and the beach becomes another elegant art, a mosaic of striking contrasts. Â I love the seascape for the way she changes, for the intensity of her perspectives. Â Across the water I see rain, a blue black bruise on the horizon blurring the line God made between the deep sea and the boundless sky. Â I […]
524Jul 11, 2014
“Would you like an elephant plant?” She asks, holding up a tiny plant in a square pot–terra cotta orange, but plastic—a baby that moments later I cannot find. I’m not sure it’s actually called an elephant plant, but it might be. Â She’s not the best for remembering the names of things, and she lifts this […]
525Jul 4, 2014
When we step onto the beach, the sea swells high and shimmers golden green in the sunlight. Â A storm matures unseen somewhere off the coast, out over the great deep. Â I know this, and still I cannot imagine how the water pools so high just here at the edge of the shore, why it gathers […]
526Jun 27, 2014
This auditorium has different lines than the one in which we usually worship. Â Pews make up the rows instead of the moveable interlocking chairs with which we’re so familiar, and something makes the room feel broad. Â The moment we push quietly in, there’s the impression of red velvet, though the seating arrangment feels spacious and […]
527Jun 13, 2014
In the middle of the afternoon, when the sun burns so hot we can almost see the scorching heat and the grass curls brown and crackles beneath our bare feet, we eat peaches that taste of sunshine. Â The sticky juice runs down our chins. Â We spoon up blueberries dripping with sweet milk and push out […]
528Jun 6, 2014
She’s such a shining, starlit soul. She walks through the kitchen, where I gently lift lettuce leaves with my fingers, sorting the torn pieces into salad bowls. “Mom, what’s that?” She says, with a casual turn of her hand, a subtle gesture toward the line of butter yellow bowls. I know she doesn’t really mean, […]
529May 30, 2014
Before the light splits apart the sky or steals soft through the clouds, revealing their lines, the only sound we hear is birdsong. I fold my legs up in the chair, drawing near to God, and it’s as though He wraps around me and breathes, Listen. Â In the darkness, hidden from view, the birds sing […]
530May 9, 2014
I walk into the kitchen from the garage, carrying an armful of things—a bag, a few books, a coffee mug someone left behind—on my way to distribute these and consider the afternoon climb, and one of my daughters presses into me, draping the now dangling legs, grasping me solid, clinging to me with now enfolding […]