Sixty-two. That’s the life expectancy of a child born in Haiti today. In 2000 a newborn could expect to live almost fifty years. But today’s two-year-olds, those born in 2010, they could die before they’re thirty. Thirty. That’s two years shy of my daughter’s age. My wee grandgirl is two. But because she lives in […]
31 Days on Coming to Grips with my Age ~ Days 6-10: I Never Imagined
Day 10 It’s still dark. I kiss Dennis goodbye. Inhale his cologne. I throw back the covers, feel around for bathrobe. Find my slippers that Lillee carried around last night. Turn up heat. Wake up Grace. Make some oatmeal. Think hard. Do I need to make a lunch? No, not today. They’re having taco bar. […]
Scripture Sunday: Until I’m Old and Gray (Day 5)
Still Saturday: Last Days of Fragrance (Day 4)
“Clarence died full of years and short of breath . . . In all the time Clarence attended the church where I pastor, he never did a thing other than show up . . . But the roots ran deep, and the branches stretched sturdy and long, and oh, the fruit. That man was clasped […]
31 Days on Coming to Grips with My Age ~ Day 3: A Lesson from the Leaves
God draped our woods with Jacob’s coat while I soul stripped on the edge of the Frio. The countryside explodes with color. “Aren’t the trees just beautiful? I can’t get over how they popped while I was in Texas.” Grace agrees. “But you know they’re dying, right? The colors mean they’re dying.” We’ve pulled into […]
31 Days on Coming to Grips with My Age ~ Day 2: A Magic Bullet
Sometimes I prefer carpet to chair. I can still criss-cross-applesauce. I’m a dashboard foot-propper gal. I can bend over, touch fingertips to floor. But my knees complain on a climb. I move slower. Clutter and chaos confuse me. I tire faster. I fear falling. My bones are soft. “I don’t want to be like my mom,” I […]
31 Days on Coming to Grips with My Age ~ Day 1: Botox, Bumps, and Bunions
I catch just a snippet of conversation. “You need to shave what?” “My chin,” she says. “My mother never told me I’d need to shave my chin. Our mothers need to tell us these things.” This is a place where real comes easy. Where we can speak the unspeakable, whisper a secret. And we laugh. […]
