201Oct 17, 2014
I don’t know how much time I have left. Â Afternoon, and autumn leaves wander and twist to the earth, fluttering through the grass and along the sidewalk. Â The sun makes a blaze of the trees. Â I stop for a moment just to see, putting down my work, stunned by the fragility of life. Â I […]
202Oct 3, 2014
This week, a departure for Kevin and me, a Sabbath rest: Tucked away, pulled back from the busy road and held–but lightly–by the trees, we hide beneath the fog. Â Sound is magnified here, somehow, or perhaps it is that other noise removed leaves room for hearing birdsong, the cheeky chatter of squirrels, the deep-throated gurgle […]
203Sep 26, 2014
Deep, empty night, and we brush our teeth, looking across at each other with eyes like moons. Â We both feel hollow-carved, like vulnerable husks reaching hungrily for rest. Â I have no thought except for the feel of the sheets beneath my legs. And then, a crash. Kevin and I look at each other briefly, asking […]
204Aug 15, 2014
In the middle of the week, the Board of Directors at Adam’s new school sends out this beautiful message, and I cry, just letting it settle: We want to express our deepest, most heartfelt gratitude to our families. Just when the weight we were carrying on our shoulders became too much to bear, dozens of […]
205Aug 8, 2014
Beside the pool in the late morning, he suddenly kneels, leaning out over the water. Â Majestic clouds move across an unfathomable sky, changing the clear light as it travels down and washes over his bent body, the rustling trees, the white plastic chairs in orderly, framing lines. Â From my chair, I pause, gathering him […]
206Jul 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 […]
207Jul 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 […]
208Jul 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 […]
209Jun 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 […]
210May 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 […]