At the end of the day, when I walk in from the shore with the sunset on my cheeks and my skin still warm from the sun, I find the text: I know you’re at the beach, but I just had to tell you what happened today.  The text comes from one of Adam’s gifted […]

It takes a hammer and a knife-sharp nail–a good, shuddering whack to the thick, fat beam, but it’s done.  I step back, admiring.  The sign, a small, artfully worn thing as black as night, says gather here.  I hang it on the porch, where it’s sweet, simple command rounds out a semi-circle of rocking chairs–one summer-sky […]

Into the bowling alley I go, “Saturday me” with her yoga pants and her clean face and her Mr. Rogers jacket (yes, because I wear it around the house).  This is the me that’s only me, the honest introvert; the quiet, swallowed-up, zipped-up me just holding tight to God’s hand, walking through the parking lot.  […]

“This isn’t a gift,” she says, passing the gift bag across the table.  The bag is cool teal, like one of the stripes in her shirt. Except for the clear absence of tissue paper, it certainly looks like a gift.  The twisted paper handles slide down her fingers as she extends her hand. “No, I […]

He presses the cross into my hands, a rugged, delicate thing he pulls from his pocket I don’t know how; it seems bigger than pocket-sized.  I run my thumb over the intricate carving on the stem and then let it rest on one palm so I can dip my fingertips into the tiny ravines.  I […]

On the field, a tangle of feet, tennis shoes slick with wet, flat grass, green-smeared on Converse white.  Some of the kids sprint, others twist and skitter, like wind-blown seeds.  It’s a game, a favorite: the prey try to make it across the field to grab up a bit of foam “food” in their fists, one […]

“Mrs. Henegar?  Mrs. Henegar!”  She calls to me from a stroll away, two picnic tables over, where she balances a fat bag of trail mix on her palm. I turn to look and with one finger, she pushes her glasses up on her nose, then digs ’round in the sack again.  Her fingers disappear beneath […]

Out of the corner of my eye, I see them kneeling in front of my son, knees pressed hard into the floor right there in front of the chair where Adam sits waiting for me, glancing at his watch.  I’m too far away to hear them, but I can tell that they’re talking to him, […]

They sit waiting–my children and this party of their best friends, a huddled, cross-legged, patchwork group in costumes as vibrant and varied as they.  Even with the house lights dim, I see the startling glint of silver sequins, a neon vest, leotards and athletic jerseys.  I slip into a chair and just smile, holding my […]

She gets up for me when it’s hard for her even to walk the length of the floor, and balancing on the one healing side, she hugs me, when I know it hurts to be touched the wrong way.  I’m on the way home to a lot of doing she couldn’t now do if she’d […]