My 11-year old son got in trouble at church for lighting matches in the Sunday school room when no adults were around. A match was smoldering on the couch, the other kids pointed the finger at him, and he was holding the book of matches when the adult walked in. And yet he claims innocence . . .
During the service we learned that a dear member of our congregation, a white-haired blues-playing saxophone player with twinkling eyes, has been diagnosed with acute leukemia. Another seemingly healthy member of our church faced this same diagnosis a couple of years ago, and lived a matter of days.
And then I spent a couple of hours with my mom--playing Scrabble, walking in a sun-filled field of hummocky almost-springtime grass. This time, for some reason, she didn't mention the fact that she prays every night for God to take her as she sleeps. But it's always in the air around her. I know she's ready to go. Why can't it be her turn instead? She's ready.
Our fireplace burns gas.
And yet I split wood.
It's all I can do.
No comments:
Post a Comment