81
Mar 18, 2016
“Hey now, offer him grace, okay?” She sits in front of me, tears pooling in the pit of the day, and I wash onions off of my hands with soap meant to smell like a sunrise sail.  It won’t be enough.  I know that, but I try anyway.  Hours from now, my fingers will still smell […]
82
Mar 11, 2016
Today, just a prayer, whispered, then fervid and carpet-muffled because that’s where I plant my nose.  I can’t seem to bend low enough to accommodate the feel of Him.  It’s a prayer I need, one I offer often in some garbled, half-torn way. But He knows all the parts, so I don’t have to remember them, […]
83
Mar 4, 2016
I should have prayed right then, right out loud, right in the car. Â I’m learning that. Mom, middle school is hard, she says, just as I’m scanning the road for anything I might have missed, just as I punch the gas and we dart across. Â Navigating traffic always feels to me like being stuck in […]
84
Feb 26, 2016
I have kept my shoes on all afternoon for just this mad-rushing, this quick gathering—the blankets slipping from my arms. “Come on, you guys, come on,” Zoe says, and we hurry to huddle in the dark, pressing our bodies into each other. They say that the best place to be in the wind-ripping event of […]
85
Jan 1, 2016
Days after Christmas, and their wishlists still hang on the refrigerator, curling slightly at the corners where our nearness, our brushing past, has gently reshaped the paper.  And of course, the lists have been moved a few times–carefully detached to travel with me to the store, lifted once or twice for closer reading, softly touched with an […]
86
Nov 13, 2015
She walks in just as I slide my weary bones down into the water, just as the steam curls up over my knees and I give thanks for simple pleasures I know full well that some do without—hot, clean water flowing by the gallons at the twist of a knob; sweet-smelling soap. Hi, she says […]
87
Nov 6, 2015
She apologizes to Kevin like we autism mamas do, ignoring the sharp, slicing pain it brings just to say the words. I’m sorry, my daughter–she has autism. Â She doesn’t mean nothing by it. Â She says this gesturing over something Kevin barely noticed, a failure to say hello, a back turned, a little stumble over […]
88
Oct 23, 2015
In the crisp of morning, we wait for school, snatching glimpses toward the door.  Adam reaches for me, flicking my ear with his fingers, saying I love you in a way all his own.  He tilts his head away, his expression lost, crinkled and preoccupied.  I wonder if he contemplates the angle of the new light beaming […]
89
Oct 16, 2015
The hour turns, and my friend waves me over, patting the chair beside. All evening, we have all only wanted to surround her, this iron-strong friend strong enough yet to admit that she needs us to lift her.  It takes a brave woman to allow the veil to fall—whisper-light—from her face, to sit uncovered and honest, to […]
90
Oct 9, 2015
So many times this week I’ve whispered the words—running under stunning blue skies; exhaling beside grassy spaces where dewey spider webs glow like hundreds of silver threaded veils seemingly abandoned by impetuos ethereal brides; in the dying light of the afternoon, when the work still stretches, teasing at the edges of impossible. Â I say it […]