Reading the Word
At that time the disciples came to Jesus and said, “Who then is greatest in the kingdom of
heaven?” And He called a child to Himself and set him before them . . .
Reflecting on the Word
I’m taking photos of light sliding across a wall, light lying out lazy along the pine-planked floor and pouring into the old bottles, when she asks for my camera. She’s not three and a half feet tall. . . .I’m capturing beauty on a Tuesday morning in a farmhouse, giving thanks for now by reverencing it with a frame and the sacred eyes, but how could I have known it would be the child who would hand me the light? “I take some pictures too, Mama? I won’t break anything, I won’t. Promise. . . . She’s cupping her dimpled hands, showing me how she’ll cradle them. . . . “Which button do I press again?” She looks up at me. How do her eyes widen to catch that much unadulterated joy? “Just press this one.” I could inhale her, fragrance of peonies in June. She presses the shutter. Vase. Click. Doorway. Click. Cupboards. Click. Her laughter makes me laugh too and I can hear her going through the house, flagrantly recording all time and space. . . . “Can you show them back to me now?” She holds the camera out to me, as longas the neck strap will allow. Nothing can restrain her giddiness. . . . She’s enchanted by her photos. I grin. Frame of a table. A doorknob. A bookshelf skewed on a tilt. Yet her photos surprise, every single one. Why? Ittakes me a moment to make sense of it. It’s the vantage point. At thirty-six inches, her angle’s unfamiliar to meand utterly captivating: the study ceiling arches like a dome, her bed a floating barge. The stairs plunge like a gorge. She’s Alice in Wonderland all the world grown Everest like around and above her.“Do you like them, Mama?” She pats my cheek with her laughter-drenched hand.
One Thousand Gifts
Responding to the Word
I want that kind of crazy, happy joy, God. . . .
Thank You, Lord, for the perspective of a child . . .
Thank You for door frames and doorknobs . . .
Thank You for soaring ceilings and bed barges and tables that loom large . . .
For her laughter and her wonder and her eyes that turn the world
inside out and stretch it large and leave me again in surprise . . .
in awe . . .
One Thousand Gifts