morning breaks, and i’m heavy lidded, still trying to keep watch for miracles that feel so late in coming. but my daughter pirouettes by in a corduroy skirt, and i find that even here, in my patient impatience, i reside in a life glutted with joy.
joy for just-born babies. tomatoes that burgeon and blush in spite of me. frisbee games with my oldest. (and his consoling smile and beautiful absence of gloating when he trounces me, twenty-one to eleven.)
there are the joys of honeyed cornbread, water in the tap, friends who take you along to the pool. books and hot chocolate in the post, cotton sheets scented with dew and wind. tylenol. absolution. a God who promises to father the fatherless.
in the end, He always shows up.
and in the meantime, there’s so very much to dance for.