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Christmas in Present Perfect Tense

In early December, I was talking with my spiritual director about Advent, about the deep ache of it, and the deep wonder. I was talking about my specific losses and fears, as well as my specific joys. I was talking about the hope that was showing up even in the midst of grief. She listened, and nodded, and repeated back to me each insight I skimmed over in my breathless rush to get it all out. And then she gently asked if I wanted to take some time to listen to my soul, which was a nice way of telling me to stop talking, to pause.  And so I closed my eyes. She led me through a lush valley to the base of a mountain, which I began to climb. The effort of it–the feel of the brush against my ankles, the bare earth against my palms–was exhilarating and frightening. For some reason, I wanted to get to the top. I could feel my muscles tensing and releasing. I could feel the soles of my feet carefully settling into each foothold. The higher I climbed, the more deeply I settled into my body and
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SOFA at Our Home!

  To: All-Employees RE: SOFA at our home! We’re THRILLED to be hosting SOFA, the weekly end of week party that travels from home to home, for the first time in many years! If you remember the last time I hosted, please don’t hold that against me (or my spouse, whom I didn't even know at the time)–that was a long time ago! Anyway, we wanted to give you some information about our home to prepare you for what we hope will be an amazing party! We’ve broken this invitation into sections for ease of navigating. Please read them all, even if you don’t think they pertain to you. What You Should Know About Our Vibe Before you enter our home, we’ll be asking you what Zone you’re in, and what your plans are to get back into the Green Zone if you report being in blue, yellow, or (God forbid) red.  Please provide your own fidget and coping cards so you can stay in the Green Zone, because no one at our home is going to share theirs. We will be checking in with you at least once an hour about you
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Here, Again

Here, Again I am at the shore of Lake Crystal, looking out over the expanse toward the island on a wintry November day. I can’t get there–the lake is beginning to get slushy, so a boat (if I had one) is not an option. But it’s not frozen, either–walking is also out of the question. Somehow, though, I know I need to get there. I know the water will hold me. I step gingerly out over the edge, and the water holds–like a glassy version of the flat escalators meant to carry weary travelers from one part of the airport to the other, I am slowly carried toward the island. Sometimes, I walk. Most of the way, though, I just watch as the island’s shores get closer and closer. I climb the bank, reach the island’s center. There are remnants of a fire, and I am warmed by its embers. Beside it, my sleeping bag, sitting atop a soft material–like a cloud, but solid. I climb in, wrap the warmth of the sleeping bag around me, securing the hood around my head.  And–look!--the trees here (but not on th
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Unborn

We’re at some kind of rally. The night before, my mom was using spray paint and old boxes to make signs the night before in our garage, while my sister and I ran through the sprinkler, shrieking. All I know for sure is I’m between 6 and 10 years of age, because my mom is alive and healthy, and we’re living in our second house. Now, in the crowded parking lot outside a building with a balcony, where a man will soon be giving a speech, she’s clutching each of us with one hand while my dad and Connie (my cousin who after my mom’s death would become a mother figure) carry the signs.  “He’s the best thing we’ve had since Kennedy,” my mom tells Connie while he’s speaking. “I can’t wait to vote for him.” I wish I could remember who we went to see, what the signs said.  “I’m going to try to go meet him,” my dad says after the speech. “I want to find out what he thinks about Cyprus.”  “You need to go up there and thank him for what he’s already said about Cyprus. That’s the way to do it. Start
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