Hannah’s smile. Emma’s voice on the phone. Ken bringing me coffee while I’m still trying to will myself out of bed. My daughters and I sharing a girls’ day out, laughing as we try to squeeze ourselves and our bundles of clothes into one dressing room. My younger son lifting me in the air and twirling me around in a pretend dance.
A veil of confusion parts and a student’s eyes reflect a new understanding. The crisp air of a just-born morning, like stepping into nature’s refrigerator. The hand of a friend, patting my shoulder during a time she feels the waves of my sadness wash over her.
Reading the last work of the last sentence of the last paragraph of a novel whose characters moved into the home of my heart. Finding the exact perfect pen to write in my new journal. The stark white beckoning pages, the invitation of blue lines…word shelves waiting to be filled.
Falling asleep in Ken’s arms. Praying in God’s. Knowing I’m a child of a loving Father. I’m sometimes petulant, self-involved, afraid, confused, demanding. But always loved. Always, always…all ways. Grateful for His being so fully great.
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