immerse in God, emerge refreshed
“Light scatter from the microscope,” the eye surgeon said. “Your own personal light show.”
During outpatient surgery today, vivid shapes—morphing from teal blue to chartreuse—resembled photos I’ve taken of water, at dusk.
Interrupting
my chronic, distorted vision
and escalating dread …
glimpses of Beauty.
Had I ever sat so still? [Read more…]
I liked its abashed demeanor.
1 stout brace
9 wood pickets, indifferently trimmed
2 rusty hinges: half-attached
Propped against a tree, that gate radiated unsung genius. Re-establish it anywhere and, via imagination, voila! …
An entrance
A wordless invitation
Another summoning threshold [Read more…]
Star-wise, the Magi traversed foreign sands, often against the wind.
The star beckoned.
Uncharted terrain, bandits and unwritten tribal codes, regional airborne viruses—everywhere, monumental risk.
By night, they braved prowling beasts; by day, in town after town, the narrowed eyes of strangers.
Perhaps second thoughts eroded their confidence.
Is this the best plan?
Did I choose the right gift?
How will I make it through these days? [Read more…]
One windless night, just beyond my bedroom window, Fowler Lake froze, luminous as mercury glass.
Ever the social caboose of my class, pre-teen me hunkered in bed. Crushing thoughts made it hard to breathe. No grace for being me.
I woke to 99 acres of gleaming ice: no pocks or blisters. Nary a wrinkle. Picture the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool. Now picture 12 of them, frozen, side by side, shaved smooth by an epic Zamboni.
I pulled on my figure skates, freestyled across the ultimate playground. Greenish-black depths glinted with bubbles seemingly lit from below.
Translucence draws us. The pristine awes us. Who doesn’t want to coast and glide and skim, grab each hem of these shirttail verbs related to wheel and rise and soar?
Who can skate around the whole lake?
How far (and how fast) is enough? [Read more…]
Hope you’re ready for these teeth,” I say.
My smiling hygienist lowers the dental lounger. “Tell me about your grandson,” she says.
“Just started kindergarten,” I say. “But after that shooting in Rockford?—his school went into lockdown. Can you imagine? He’s barely 6!”
Her face pales. “Oh, how awful for you.” She lets me talk—all but holds my hand, so intently does she listen.
Then: “I have a kindergartner too,” she says, “and a toddler. My oldest goes to Freeman Middle School.”
I stare. Freeman, Freeman … oh no, isn’t that—
“We chose that school district especially, to keep our kids safe.”
Oh Lord, what freaked me out from a distance is her ongoing reality. Her town.
“I didn’t know,” I whisper.
She gathers her tools, then turns back to me. “It’s been hard. Really hard.”
And I see stories flitting across her face.