Gimme Five

How much power does the human hand hold? A firm handshake speaks volumes over a limp grip. A gentle touch, a caress or a stroke are pleasing sensations generated by the human hand. An itch can be relieved and cool fingers ease a hot forehead. Your hand can scream at a crazy driver with certain gestures, or with a quick flip of the wrist, it makes a perfect tool to ward off uneasy conversations. Recently, on an episode of "Glee," Kurt sang a tearful rendition of the Beatles' classic hit, "I Want To Hold Your Hand." Today, gazing at an ultrasound picture, five fingers waved at me through a tiny cell phone screen. I counted them to make certain. Fluorescent bones illuminated the hand, which appeared larger than the head, showing the world a perfect high-five. Instantly, I yearned to take my new grandchild's hand inside my own, gloving the minute appendage with unconditional love. The Bible tells us to lend a helping hand, to be a helping hand. I thought about that today. And the myriad of ways God caresses us in his loving hands. So, I clicked on the message in my inbox once again, peering at the elfin high-five, and wondered to myself if this unborn child hasn't already figured this all out.

Follow The Leader

Have you seen him? Has he entered your private space unexpectedly, delightfully, surprisingly?Does the first glistening star in the inky sky remind you of him? Have you met him? So often I've flipped through my Bible, skimming past the two words that rock my world. They scare me. They make me sweat. And I don't always know what they mean. Follow me. Follow you where? To the heavy-set guy at the gym you prompted me to encourage, even though I really wanted to pretend I didn't feel the nudge. To the homeless shelter on a cold rainy day, or the dirty and ragged homeless on the street corner. To the nasty customer on the other end of the telephone, on whom I would rather slam the receiver down hard. Twice. Even though, with considerate listening, I might actually hear between the lines. I ask myself these questions from time to time. Especially when life throws a glitch in my carefully crafted plans, and my day-planner looks more like an etch-a-sketch than a blueprint for the next twenty-four hours. But I ask nonetheless, because when I gaze up at the illuminated stars, their dazzling brilliance cause my breath to hitch at the base of my throat. And on a good day, the fragile breath escapes, liberated, freely, into the unknown. Then I am reminded of the times I allowed him to lead. Life gets so much sweeter when I follow the leader.

Moose Fever

"I want to see a moose," he said, his voice sounding like a ten-year-old itching to hit a home run. With bases loaded. Glancing his way, I noticed the furtive look he snuck while driving the car. His eyes skimmed the side of the road as we continued down the highway. What's so special about a moose? I kept my gaze pinned to the New England autumn colors, the brilliant orange and crimson-colored leaves dappling the scenery. Flashing emergency signs were occasionally posted on the right-hand side of the road, a warning for stray moose. Hmmm...maybe this year he'll be lucky. The pouring rain did not deter my husband's desire for the anticipated sighting. His small camera held court in the pocket of the car door. Mine was snuggled in its case, resting up for the next round of dazzling shots. He said we needed to stop at Walmart. I do not like Walmart. Ever. But, this being vacation, I didn't sit in the car and pout. After our hurried trip down the aisles, searching for fishing gear, we headed out of the parking lot. "Why are they stopped?" He nodded his head toward a gaggle of cars parked haphazardly on the street just outside of Walmart. "It's a moose!" Joy leaped from his clear eyes. I grabbed my camera, rushing after my husband, suddenly caught up in moose fever. The locals skirted around the tourists, most likely immune to the popular attraction. Afterward, we each took a quick peek at our digital pictures. Through my telephoto lens it appeared we were out in the wilderness, not yards from America's shopping heaven. His viewer displayed the moose as a tiny speck. A few minutes later, we headed back down the road, my husbands wish granted. That day, I did get some great pictures. I think I will make him a mouse pad for Christmas.

Miner Detail

How many eyes were riveted to the television this past week? How many conversations revolved around the miracle taking place in front of the world? What thoughts swirled through the minds of the men as they inched their way toward daylight? I don't know the answer to any of these questions. But this is what I do know. As the 13th miner emerged from the missile-like escape capsule, I stopped pedaling and sat still, unable to avert my eyes from the screen mounted on the wall in the gym. I contemplated the major feat taking place, the courage of the trapped miners and the magnitude of the rescue efforts. After a few moments, I lowered my head, swiped the tear snaking down my cheek, and whispered, "Thank you."

My Friend Iris

I flipped the switch and waited patiently for her comforting presence. Letters appeared on the screen as she prepared her grand entrance. Oh, the sweetness of her voice. I cradled the device in the palm of my hands like a small Bible. "Drive 2.4 miles, then turn right." I glanced at my husband's jaw, the tightness, the distrust causing his eyes to squint. A short distance prior to the exit, I said, using my best imitation, "o.3 miles, then turn right." His face remained stony. "Turn right!" she said. As our car sped past the off ramp, my heart palpitated furiously. "She didn't give us enough notice!" I whined. "Recalculating,"she intoned. My eyes rolled. "Drive 3.4 miles, then turn left." I got so mad at her that I shut my eyes against the crimson red and sulfur leaves dappling the scenery as we whizzed by. Unlike my husband, I had placed a small amount of faith in Iris. Even though she messed up sometimes, causing us to drive miles out of the way, or asking us politely to turn down a gravel driveway, I held her tight. Plus, I'm a lousy co-pilot. Once, with a pert voice, she advised us to make a right hand turn on a freeway, which, had we obeyed, would have smashed our car into the guard-rail. I still gave her every chance in the world. Maybe that's how God sees us humans. I wonder how many times I've traveled in the wrong direction and he looks down at me, smiles, and with supernatural patience in his tone says, "Recalculating." Then, if I am listening, I turn directions, and travel the opposite way, the way that offers the beautiful scenery. I named her Iris because I thought it sounded sophisticated and smart. We did get to our destination, and my husbands jaw eventually loosened. The view was glorious.