71 Miles To Go

71 miles to go
Responsible parents would have put their children to bed by now
Responsible parents?
No one puts their children to bed early
Or on time

70 miles to go
Two asleep
Two singing
One watching

She and I are playing peekaboo with the moon
The man in moon peeks at us
Then disappears behind the blackest of clouds
Just his eyes appear in a break then slowly sink down
Someone has put the moon to bed

She says it looks like an animal

Look! It’s nose

It’s a bit magical

If she was asleep, we wouldn’t be able to play peekaboo with the moon
Responsible parents let their children play peekaboo with the moon

68 miles to go

A child’s freedom on the fourth

I just finished shucking corn on the back porch. The ribs for dinner are on the grill. The smell penetrates the neighborhood. It smells like home. Like my Dad’s cooking.

4th 2

I can hear thunder rolling in the distance as a small storm moves this way. There is hope it will cool off this hot sticky day.

Fat drops of rain pinging on the roof and off the gutters. Easy rolling thunder.

Lighting.

Summer on the small back porch.

A child, once terrified of the smallest of storms, sits. Watching. Waiting. Quietly.

4th 5

It could be any day, but it’s the Fourth of July.

A small town, middle-America, Forth of July.

Earlier in the day there was a neighborhood bike parade.

4th 1

4th 4

Potluck lunches.

Hot. Sweaty. Dirty. Happy children filled with laughter. They are hungry, but they keep on playing outside in the July heat. Four year olds and thirteen year olds, playing.

Childhood.

It reminds me of my childhood. Celebrations in America without politics. Divisions. Anger. Hurt.

Sure it was there. Behind the scenes. But it didn’t dominate. Take over. Ruin. Sadden.

We took our kids to the retirement home to lead a patriotic sing-along with the residents. Songs of my childhood. Songs I know by heart, but now need to teach to my children. I have forgotten to teach them these songs. There are more songs I need to teach them.

Six to ninety-something years old. All singing.

Back at home after the evening meal of ribs, freshly shucked local corn, baked  beans, lemonade and a cheese cream pie to come, we head outside to light fireworks that don’t leave the ground. Only smoke in different colors.

The same girl terrified of storms, holds a small sparkler for the first time in years. Fears turn softer, slowly turing into joy.

“Can I have another?”

“I’ll hold two this time.”

Fear slowly turns to … freedom.

4th 3

Freedom to be a child.

To celebrate.

To play all day outside.

To not be scared.

To be adventurous.

Freedom to be a child on the fourth, and every other day.

 

“Love Lives Here” Book Review

LLH Book

Maria Goff takes us on a beautiful journey of faith through stories of her childhood, friendships, life and marriage to husband, Bob Goff. Her personal stories share glimses of God’s faithfullness and love, hope and grace.

It’s refreshing to read a book that is authentic. Maria Goff doesn’t hide behind a “perfect” marriage or a “perfect” family, but shows us how God is real in all of the beauty and the ashes.

Her invitation is to come, rest in the love of God. “Places of rest are holy, they’re sacred, and they’re race. Stop writing bad checks with your life you can’t cover without some rest. Find your place and go there – often.”

“Love Lives Here” is a wonderful reminder that God’s ever present love in intertwined within our own stories.
*I received an advanced copy of this book from the publisher, but this is my honest review.*