https://cen.acs.org/analytical-chemistry/art-&-artifacts/Statues-women-ancient-modern/100/i11

This is a true story.

She draws human figures with the raw aplomb of an untrained Basquiat—

Wild, thatched hair

Appendages filigreed with questions

She draws me, but it could be her, or any other female figure

She draws Jesus with his woven outer garment

I prefer these interpretive gestures over the photographic light of day

The beloved through the eyes of the Beloved sees us

Before, during, and after

Time will have its end

But light goes on

Forever

I know some young scholars who

Insist upon insisting that they

Are totally unable to compute or comprehend

One half of one hundred is…

One third of a hundred is…

Two thirds of two pop tarts is…divided equally

Their feigned ignorance is almost as impressive as it would be if

They did the math—

We live in a world where mothers and fathers die

Prematurely, with tangled, unanswerable questions about the hows and the whys

So take that, Universe! We don’t have to be your mathematicians!

Never really knowing

All we lose by refusing to

Face the lizards of math

Before we can

Face dragons.

One of the phrases used to describe “insomuch” was “worn down” as in insomuch is worn down from Old English or Old German..”

It is old

So old it is now uncommon,

Even rare

In is in

So is so

Much is much

To such a degree

To such an extent

In a way that is so

Much

Shaken down

Pressed down

Made to be more

To the degree or extent we

Are close to Jesus.

Univerbation….

I opened the Bible app and saw unfamiliar words. Somehow the text setting had been set to a language I don’t read or speak (Kiswahili?)

Two things struck me—the meaning of the words was behind a barrier of my ignorance. I could try to figure them out or I could change the settings back to a language I know.

In a moment, the meaning and the grace of the single verse from Psalm 23 flooded in. I write about it because the momentary detour feels important to me.

God’s anchoring promises are as true when I don’t understand as when I do. He doesn’t change, but I need to. I need to change my settings so I can see and understand.

Even in English, Psalm 23:4 is both comforting and challenging.

Valley of death?

Dear no evil?

Jesus’ anchoring presence is the only thing that matters, even when he says “wait snd pray.”

We dot the refrigerator with picture of her

You ask her ages in each

Was she six? Was she seven?

She was a ray of light

A geometric concept you would snub if you met it in a lesson at school

“No, entiendo, maestra”

A comet streaking across a jeweler’s velvet sky

Quotidian violence and loss—your inheritance of blood

I conjure up

The last time I hugged her tight

My regrets about the mythical creatures we would have to have bought tickets for on the last plane

Puddles of urine and light

A small storm in Nashville

Target was closed and we drove

Across the geography of loss we did not want or ask for

When what we want is only obtainable through the persistent, audacious supplication

Miracles, please

Dear Jesus

Dear-heart-Savior

Nothing impossible for You

We shop for resale wedding dresses to clothe the shivering winter trees

You have said

“I will marry him one day” with the latent expectation that

Prince Charming will be hard-working and handsome

Weather all your storms

He does, of course,

The Charming Invisible

Math tutor of our dreams and litanies

He punctuated this engagement from an Occupier’s Cross

Look up, my child

Our bridegroom cometh soon

In the watches

Close to midnight

The way I see it

You have to know that our roots and origin ran through a cold northern river, inky dark streets, a Tiffany lamp in the hallway of a swanky riverfront home just around the corner from the enigmatic Victorian brick two story with a strange penchant for letting

Music spill out onto the lawn, into the street, soaring music—Elvis and Mozart as your sister-mother ran in the light or climbed onto the roof

Sassing the neighbor when she asked where “mom” was

Sleeping Beauty.

We are a generational fairy tale

Goldilocks among the familial, adoptive bears

I take HIPAA shred and fold it into a fan, scissor it into the shapes of female figures—me, you, your sisters, your aunts, your bad and good precedents

We are women

We dance in a circle

Arms entwined or akimbo

You shed light, little firecracker

Always shed light

My love

On the day the rains come

the dreamy neonate

slips like a lost drachma into the belly of a fish/

Water improbably clear

How can she still

live, breath, sleep, hope, remain, endure when

Someone must

Make haste

Dive deep

save her

I always try to “get” something new from the Gospel genealogies. All those begettings.

Today I focused on the begetting of the word itself—“get, obtain by effort” feels like solid ground.

Jesus had no biological children but he has begotten us.

What do you and I beget? Who do we beget?

God treasures us and he treasures our time. We have the choice to beget things that last like grace and love, or people we are not biologically related to when we show them they are loved and valuable.