aslan

it was a long time ago, but today i felt it near. sometimes at this time of year, whenever a breeze picks up leaves and scatters them, or i hear the neighborhood kids voices in the field behind me, i remember. maybe it's the sunlight caught in just a moment on my cupboard door, dancing with the trees in front of my house, but it's there. so briefly. and then gone. it is the awareness of death and that slim line we all walking between the eternal and folding towels. it is a gift that is given in tiny crumbs. i have no control over it, it rushes in with a wave, overwhelms me with its power, and leaves me drenched. every part of me feels alive for that brief moment because i know that death is also near.

it does makes me cry but it is an emotion of humility and of how ephemeral it all is. it is an awareness of the Creator. of mystery. of life-everlasting.

i cried today. many times. overcome with emotion. nine years ago this afternoon the doctor said rather matter-of-factly, from across the room, after cheerfully bantering with the patient next door for the past 40 minutes while i clung to a cold paper gown, glancing over his clipboard, motioning to the nurse to review my stitches/his handiwork - oh yes, why yes it is cancer. in fact quite aggressive. yes we'll have to have surgery right away. almost completely unaware of the spinning that began that moment for me. of the loss of contact with the ground below or of the meaning of words.

i have many more memories. but why i cried today is because those divine moments are a gift from that day. it is a tender and delicate thread we walk on. so gentle and precarious. i don't understand why i'm still breathing while others are no longer here. but in those moments when a ringing guitar echoes seemingly into eternity or my sweet jude baptises herself with scoops of water from aslan's fountain in my back yard, i remember. but the Spirit gently speaks. the Lord the giver of life is waiting. have no fear. have no fear.