51Nov 29, 2013
My son digs the bills out of his left pocket, spreading them flat on his thigh. Â He smiles–a small, delighted surrender, preparing for the giving. And somewhere long past—somewhere God can still see unfolding right with our present, a woman’s feet stir the dust as she walks purposefully toward Temple. Lightly, she walks across the […]
52Sep 13, 2013
On the bar in the kitchen, I find a scrap of paper she has forgotten. Â The blocked letters and lines and paragraphs seem too serious for her, too stark. Â Name: _______________________________ Title/Description for yourself (something you would naturally say to introduce yourself): _______________________________. Â Her handwriting softens the lines, beautiful, plain, easy. Â Riley. Â Peace. I lay […]
53Jul 19, 2013
He sits in an arm chair with his small, tender hands pressed hard over his bottomless brown eyes, flaxen curls spiraling soft over his head. Three-years-old and his tone earnest, he counts, leading. 1…2…3… Adam kneels in front of him, bending his long, eleven-year-old legs, pressing his lengthening fingers against his own eyes. Â Adam’s voice […]
54Jun 21, 2013
Streaks of fire and amber color the clouds, royal streamers declaring another day done, and I sit down with the glory at my back and the warm, afternoon breeze tickling my cheeks. We love Summer for meals on the screened porch out back, where we can hear the birds singing loud and see the worms […]
55May 17, 2013
There’s really only one place to start, only one space for the dying of seed, the breaking of ground. I stand in her doorway–just for a breath, my hand on the door frame, watching light cast aside shadows. Â She rests, still cocooned, all possibility swathed in quilted blossoms. Â I whisper thanks and ask for protection, […]
56May 3, 2013
I love so many hurting people. And the impulse I have, because it’s God obliterating me, is to bring them joy. I want to grab the heavy shadows shrouding them and rip them apart with my hands. I want to free them from the grip of the things that steal their laughter. I want to […]
57Apr 12, 2013
Mom, come look. She says it breathlessly, wiping sweat and wild hair from her forehead with her hand. I stand at the sink, washing my hands with the honeysuckle soap, preparing to chop onions for our supper. “Come look at what?” I ask, drying my hands on a towel. Â I reach in the cabinet for […]
58Mar 1, 2013
She stands just on the other side of the bar as Kevin and I wash dishes, reading aloud to me from a book.  I’ve suggested that she read to herself, but she says she just likes reading to me. The truth is, it’s easier for her to remember what she hears aloud.  Somewhere, that fact about […]
59Dec 28, 2012
We gather, curling into chairs and each other, a half-moon twice bonded by blood—blood in our veins and scarlet-robed in Christ. There’s something important about this—the gathering. Â Living, we circle each other as satellites, moving in and away, making different bright constellations. Â But in these moments of worship, we are all here, all present, all […]
60Nov 30, 2012
We walk in the museum as the day turns to shadow—my sister-friend and I and our bouncing scribble of children. Â Our group moves like an earthworm—fat and thick in the middle, undulating in a thin, crooked line in front and behind. Â We are multi-colored coats, scarves, boots and tennis shoes, wading into the snarl in […]