26 August 2010
a quarter peck of joy.
they came by with peaches, lisa and her boy, just popped up on my front stoop bearing luminous smiles and bags spilling with fruit.
the kids clamored for an extra snack, so i parted velvet skin and carved flesh into wedges of gold. and with peach juice dribbling sticky down our chins, i thought: this is how God shows up in my everyday, through a knock and a friend and glassine bags heavy with summer globes.
so often i am cleopas fumbling along on the road to emmaus, missing Jesus as he unpacks truth beside me. i inhabit that contradiction of the slow and burning heart all too well.
When he was at table with them, he took the bread and blessed, and broke it, and gave it to them. And their eyes were opened and they recognized him; and he vanished out of their sight. They said to each other, "Did not our hearts burn within us while he talked to us on the road, while he opened to us the Scriptures?"
it takes a while, but in the end i see it's him. and oh, how my heart ignites.
so today, determined not to let the joy stop with me, i knock on a door and hand a bag to the surprised, then crinkled-into-a-smile face of my neighbor. and i think perhaps God multiplies the peaches and the grace, that the good news is for us all, and that the best part of today is how i am lucky enough to share it.
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more imperfect prose at emily's.