i’ve long been the family’s Designated Crier, but this past week i’ve taken my responsibility to new heights.
my little brother rang from oahu on my birthday. those few small minutes of our usual silly banter blurred the whole room, and i had to feel my way back to the table.
then friday night we gathered the littles and traveled snowy streets to a Christmas eve service. we sang of ransoms and God with us, and my lashes coated up thick and salty with all that liquid wonder.
we read from romans 5 and circled the church to share communion, and i joined expectant faces lining walls pink with candlelight, crooked an arm around the littles, drank in remembrance of unfathomable love.
the room was so pungent with hope, most of our eyes took to burning.
Christmas dawned lucid and tipped with frost. we gathered with family for glazed ham and cobbler and fruit, and the boys read from luke 2 and elle sang God a birthday song.
and the sounds of grace in small mouths made my heart wobble and flood its capacity till the excess slipped wet down my face.
'twas a mighty good, albeit damp, week.
* * *
people who give good gifts (ie clean water and ducks)
ornery relatives and wrapping paper fights
mom's voice on the phone
a God who redeems
almond joy coffee creamer
flannel sheets worn whisper soft
the hope of a son soon home
the littles running amuk with their cousin
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