It was quite simple. She hadn't done anything special. There wasn't really anything different that she did with her hair and I had seen the clothes that she had on before. All she did was open the fridge and crush the empty carton of milk on the side of the island. That was really about it. Maybe the light from the window lit the streaks of gray in her hair to recall the years that we walked through together, hand in hand, with sometimes heavy or feather-weight hearts. Maybe it was her eyes as she quickly glanced my way and flashed a smile as our boys worked on getting their school books together for their classes. I have no idea if was all of that, or none of it. What I do know is that, at that moment, I was overwhelmed. "You look very pretty today." I was rather abrupt and, upon realizing how ordinary the day was and that this was probably not the time for compliments of that sort, I had to try to say something funny. "How do I look?" Her answe
Showing posts from October, 2017
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...Enter into the joy of your master. Matthew 25:21b Those seven words hold so much meaning for me both in the context of the passage in the Bible where they are spoken and in my position as a father. As these words are spoken, a master has returned from a long journey and has seen the wisdom of a servant in his handling of the money that was entrusted to him. The master is thrilled so much so that he invites the servant close to him. So close. I get the sense that this is not a begrudging willingness to share in his master's happiness. It seems rather spontaneous and born out of the servant functioning at his highest level. A level that may even have been born out of love. This is not a "good job" pat on the back. This is more of a visceral reaction - the master reaches deep and offers everything that he can possibly give to the servant. His happiness is not something that he holds onto. It is something poured out onto the servant. Overflowing. Soaking. Immersing.
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If only I thought of the right words, I could have held on to your heart. If only I thought of the right words, I wouldn't be breaking apart All these pictures of you. - Pictures of You, The Cure I can feel the lament of these words as sure as I can feel the peace of being known by God. I needn't find the right words in his presence as if my poetry would open access to him. All I need to do is sit. Even sit so still and be. I scarcely understand as I lay myself bare before him. On my face, on my knees, driving in my car, walking with her I open myself wide to him and he sees. He knows. He smiles. He loves. Pictures? No. Presence. Deep abiding light that sees me. All of me. Not the part that I expose to others. All of me. And the drumbeat of his heart arrests mine and we know. Me, in part; he, the whole.