One of the creepier pieces of the puzzle beneath the headaches I don’t really have is a eyelid that doesn’t really close.
At least not all the way.
Well, at least that’s what my eye doctor says.
It’s handy at mealtime, where only a fool would pray with both eyes closed at my dinner table. When we say table grace, I keep that one creepy eye fixed on the spread. Because if I don’t watch the bowl to my right, I’m going to wind up on the short end of the mashed potato stick.
Meaning: I’m not so attentive during that prayer as I’d like to think.
In fact, I might be known to say Come, Lord Jesus, be our guest, with more than a little indifference.
I don’t always expect Him to show.
I’d noticed it, sure. But not really. Not like I did when I looked the second time.
When I went back, I saw this thing happening. You all were doing your own little scootching up around each other, whispering prayers, asking for them, cutting holes in the roof and lowering friends into the room for the Healer to get his hands on them.
And when another said what she did, in that certain beautiful way she did, this was the thing I saw:
Near the cross of Jesus stood his mother, his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. When Jesus saw his mother there, and the disciple whom he loved standing nearby, he said to his mother, “Dear woman, here is your son,” and to the disciple, “Here is your mother.” From that time on, this disciple took her into his home. (John 19:25-27)
I see it in the sanctuary. I see it in your places. I see it on Facebook. I hear it on the phone.
We can’t be what we’re not. And we can’t do what we can’t.
But we take each other in.
We bring each other in.
I don’t know how to thank you enough for letting me be witness to a little bit of how we do that thing Jesus left us with here.
Photo: more from among the remnants of autumn, Sica Hollow, South Dakota
Sometimes, I slip the socks over cold feet during these cool summer nights in South Dakota. Last night I’d slipped the phone between them on the floor to muffle the buzz a little — enough to keep the daily 1:00 am email that alerts me to hail activity somewhere in the country from waking us, but not so much as to cover a call or text from my son who was spending the night with friends.
Just in case.