The shores of Lake Michigan, the copper-bottomed clear water of Presque Isle, the porch swing of a children's home in Guatemala. Being surrounded by the concrete walls of a church in the Philippines, the holy moment as a baby emerges and takes it's first breath, the sacred space of the head squeeze, wrapped in the love of a friend's hug, trust. Walking into the unknown with head held high. Bravery of others trickling down. The dusty earth caking my riding boots, the wind. A chapel surrounded by a stained glass cloud of witnesses. Miracle babies.
Words spoken and written, giant bathtubs filled to the brim with bubbles, the sweet smell of a sweaty baby head laying on my chest, wrapped in soft colors. laughter, dancing with abandon, the rare runner's high, Tires. Slurpees on a hot summer's day, tears, prayer-answered, unanswered, and unspoken, a church organ, the drum beat, naps in the sunshine, warm rains. Singing loud. The weight of mercy. The depth of grace.
