Love Me Do

He waddled towards the overflowing basket filled with stuffed animals, toys, this grandson of mine.  A grin pasted on his small round face, a gleeful sound bubbled up, spilled into the sunlit bedroom. Reaching for blue puppy, both fists tightened around its soft body, he pulled the beloved plush animal to his olive-colored cheeks, just under fringe of brown bangs. One year-old boy's eyes shone sparklers, his happy glee noises making my heart spin, so enraptured he was with puppy. I followed him with wondrous eyes, the kind of eyes that say, do-not-miss-this-moment-it-will-never-repeat. His wobbly legs stepped eagerly towards large mirror on door, one of blue puppies floppy ears held tightly between tiny teeth. Dimpled hands banged in play on mirror as the toy swayed from side-to-side, toddler head swinging with delight, a joyful reflection. Blonde brother turned pages of books, chattering, chattering, unformed words playing on his lips. This must be it, I thought. The possibility made possible. The mind focusing on present, all eyes fixated on the beautiful. Leon Henri Marie Bloy said: "Joy is the most infallible sign of the presence of God." If that be so I mused, then God smiles wide at each grace discovered, each moment stolen, thieves that rob for joy we are. I sighed happy. Later in the day, a Beatles tune thread through my head like one of those old vinyl records that got stuck in the groove..."Love, love me do, you know I love you, I'll always be true, so please love me do..." It felt like God was singing the words to me, see boy with puppy, books strewn across floor, wondrous abandonment? There I am, in the middle for you, all for you, love, love, me do. Thank you, I breathed and lifted my journal from the kitchen counter. #719. boy who cuddles with blue puppy. #720. snowmen still stand under warm sea-blue sky. #721 bright yellow daffodils springing to life after crazy spring snow. Without gratitude I am stranded on an island of fear and resentment, cold and shivering, mumbling my complaints of pain. By counting gifts, I see the chorus of God singing, I'll always be true, so please love me do.

When The Moon Comes Out To Play

On July 16, 1969, the world watched in anticipation as three men were hurtled skyward, bound for the moon. The successful landing on July 20, 1969 ushered in an era of moon exploration. My own fascination with the moon began in childhood. Not the scientific allure, telescopes and museums, rockets and moon gear. Mine is pure romance. One glimpse at a brilliant full moon commanding the sky, telling the world yes, I came again, I came back for you all and my heart comes undone. I count on the beauty, I need the beauty. For two nights, dragging myself to bed, exhausted, praying for relief, the hazy, effervescent light found me. Peeking between wood blinds, all glory and luminous, slanted light splaying bright stripes across bed pillow. A ray of soft light, a veil, painted my nose, forehead. My gaze pinned to the fullness, to splendor. Tears washed down my cheeks, the moon came back for me. Like it always has. I drew in a breath, thank you I managed, all senses attuned to the moment, to the incandescent display. Time spent slow, wet face tilted toward window, beauty trumping discouragement, I thought of running outside like Ann Voskamp to chase after the gift. To run panting through wheat fields, but this is my own story to live, I let the fullness of the gift adorn me. Lying with the glow shining through blinds, I played hide-and-seek, moving the position of my head, face damp with wonder and joy. Eyelids heavied, cheeks moist, like a child's lullaby the moon sang me to sleep. Oh, how He loves and woos, afflictions eclipsed by glory once more, Heaven meets earth. The moon came back for me.