The Tree

Photo cred: Urban Rose Photo

"Adam and Eve could have sinned at any time," I say, "because they were free."

"Ohhhh," the children nod, breakfast unfinished around morning Bible study, oatmeal lumped over bowl rims.

"Free to do good and free to do evil." Freedom, that long radius swaths, swings wide, cuts deep, furrows, pulverizes, winnows down grains of thought to one thing: choice, raw and fibrous.

"Huh." Squinting eyes, freedom's propeller blades take shape, that awful thrust, exhilarating power, sound barrier shattering.

"The tree was just a warning," I say, "a way to spell danger." How else could God prove he wasn't controlling us? That awe-ful affidavit, proof before a notary public: We. Are. Free. Declaration under oath, freedom.

A collective inhale, the air thin, pulling from adjacent rooms, we squint, peep through the mind's portal, magnificent, horrendous, air-tight, nourishing choice. The verification gavel sounds.

"God actually does take care of us," Joe resounds, finality across his forehead, thumb strumming gold-rimmed pages of his Bible. I stare. Understanding pressed between his boyish grin run slack and the more-times-than-I-can-count he's been in trouble this week, he nods. I soften.

"He really does," I say. Submission slips in as if tipping his hat. Respect settles between us, a lingering exhale, the beginning of a new breath.

Photo cred: Urban Rose Photo

Gratitude:

6587. The handsome gray in Craig's hair.

6588. The myriad of knitting projects constellating our home.

6589. A giant pot of stew seasoned with herbs and spices akin to alchemy.

6590. The gentle unfolding of winter days.

6591. The family affair of a free alumni basketball game at my alma mater.

6592. Delicious meals of green beans and quinoa, coffee and cookies, tortilla chips and baked parmesan.

6593. Everyday filled with blessing. We let them ensconce us, recognition bringing them to life.

Photo cred: Urban Rose Photo