Dinner

Courtesy of Urban Rose Photo.

"My act of service," Jane says, "was taking care of extra bowls at lunch." She leans on an elbow, spoon slack in a pool of black beans. "And my words of love," she says, "are for Momma." She tucks her chin, "I love that you make us obey you."

I watch the shy top of her eyes, an easy smile slung across her face. "Jane, I'm so proud of you. Why do you say that?" I hold her eyes like a bird in my hand that lilting ribbon of a smile slack and serious.

She rounds her eyes, arches her eyebrows. "So that we can learn to obey authorities," she says, "like God and Daddy and the people that are over you." She plucks her spoon and scoops up shining pebbles of beans. She presses them to the roof of her mouth like chocolate.

I let the moment flutter, a ribbon in the wind, watch her carry on as if she'd traced the simple A B C of penmanship. The day wound up into a tight bobbin of a night, I catch my breath at the clarity.





Gratitude:

3789. Tuesday-girls iron out Thanksgiving plans.

3790. A checker-plaid button-down -- rosy red and iced teal.

3791. "Mom," Lucy announces, "we can pick our nose. We just can't eat the thing that is in our nose."

3792. I find another friend loves God's word. We visit while my children build block towers for her baby boy to topple.

Courtesy of Urban Rose Photo.

3793. Olivia comes to dinner. I am blessed by her laugh, her earnest questions, the lull of conversation a gentle breeze through the leaves of the house, her presence pleasure. Friendship encircles us.

3794. A migraine -- pain explosion. "Lord help me through the pain," I pray. Hours later I arise weak and well. In the kitchen, to the gentle shush of crayons on paper, Lucy sings again and again, "Not my will but Your will. Not my will but Your will. Not my will but Your will." Her words the ticking clock at my back, wash me with strength.

Courtesy of Urban Rose Photo.

3795. A red sweater, soft, so soft.

3796. I visit with Mom, the low-tide of the headache washes out. I fall again to bed and rest.

3797. Sophie and dinner, the exchange of friendship and faith, we wash it down with apples and cinnamon, coffee and boardgames. The 16 years difference in our age melts to level ground, peers, and the lovely, lovely result: friends.

3798. Craig takes Jane to the annual Turkey Shoot.

Courtesy of Urban Rose Photo.

3799. "Mom, I have some information you may want to know," Jane announces earlier this week. "Myra coughed and it made a noise like puke."

3800. Pictures from Rosie.

3800. Dinner on the farm.

3801. Craig continues the gentle and unending tug of leadership that first drew me to him.

Courtesy of Urban Rose Photo.