Country Chronicles: Pieces of Memory


Our kids are four and six. I am acutely aware that the shards of memory they are forming will someday meld together into the lens they will see the world through. And so…

Tonight after dinner, the four of us piled into our orange amphibious vehicle. We took the trail that leads to the secret cabin our neighbor built. I am starting to recognize the shadows that the moon tosses across our path. I don’t jump when they shift like I once did. The shapes of the trees that fall across the trail as we move deeper into the woods, my hair blown wild, I hold my daughter tight. It smells like pine, sounds like stellar jays, I feel safe and wild at the same time.

Will you tell them, if they ask, that we really did venture out in the dead of night? That there was a small white truck with a light on the roof? That we did one day, all four of us, climb on a quad and go for a trek. That…no…sorry E you were not really driving. All those tiny bits of memory will carry our quirky legacy.

We pull out at our favorite place, where the trees all part and the valley opens up and we can catch a glimpse of far and away. The waxing moon holds the sky wide open, the clouds moving fast across it, the city lights miniscule below. Orion’s Belt takes its place low on horizon, we sit for a moment and watch the things that shift, the clouds. The stars that hold still, we count them, all our lucky ones.

We gaze up together, whisper wonder; I thank God, out loud.
I hope they remember the stars someday, my arms on them, Jesus all around. I hope when they feel wind on their faces; they remember freedom, wonder, worship.

Linking up with Emily Wierenga and the happy she is back Emily Freeman

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