All that we see around us all the time —

this is what we risk never really seeing at all.













I think it was Monday that she brought the the last of this melting snow right into the kitchen.

Right into the kitchen, in this packed ball with a few blades of grass that cut open the blind eyes.

“It’s melting right in my hand.” She’s grinning.

I’m melting in her palm too.

And after that, I see how the light folds in with the spinach in the pan, how it falls across a plate, how it lights her eyes when she sings, “Away in the Manger” before the Advent candles.

See how the boys listen to man-legends while they eat.

How their hair falls to the kitchen floor, this precipitation of time, how time’s made the son’s hand a man’s hand —  running right there up the nape of his neck.

When brothers migrate in the evening to the fire and the couch with their books, I look up from words in my own lap and watch them a long time. The boy who makes propellers, there with four books in his lap, beside the brother who reads books while driving a tractor.

And there is music, if I listen. Mama turning pages of the hymnal.

Give me eyes to see — ears to hear.

That’s one of the truth wonders of the Greatest Story ever told:

That the only way to make a thing loveable —  is to wildly love it.

And this loving a life because of the Giver of it? This is what makes life a loveable thing.

The candles flicker light in the windows and I fall in love with the Giver of the all the moments, who gives all this living.

In the windows, everywhere like a window, you can catch reflections of it —

All the hearts all aflame….

One thing I ask of the LORD, this is what I seek:

that I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life,

to gaze upon the beauty of the LORD

and to seek him in his temple.

~Ps. 24:7