Just Faith, Everyday

Learn a lesson from the fig tree. When its branch becomes tender and sprouts leaves, you know that summer is near. Mark 13:28 I remember when the fig tree leaves budded and bloomed, just before summer, just as spring got full underway, as the heat turned up as if some unseen hand had turned the knob on the oven, and the sun blared harder on our little yard, blooming and supporting all manner of flowers and leaves. It seemed like it would be forever before we could sink our teeth into succulent figs--and it wasn't until July, for Isabella's birthday, that we could gather a small bowl of them for family to try. Otherwise we'd gather them a few at a time, just enough to taste, to pair with some Portuguese cheese my Mom had just sent, or with a cookie or some cake, in the Victorian tradition of tea cake loveliness. That fruit was so astounding to me--its growth, nourishing small birds who passed through our yard. I know how it grows, but there it was, in my back yard, al...

On the way to work, I look in the rearview mirror and see the bright, beautifully shaped eyes my daughter inherited, the smile in them (or frown, or grimace), the shine of wisdom, glitter from the morning sun, from my little Sophia. Then, I get on the bus to go into campus and, some mornings, will catch that same eye and smile in the gorgeous diversity of people. Eyes made to shimmer in the sunlight--blue, brown, hazel, of all shapes and origins. Eyes which have seen both beauty and war, have seen their own share. In some eyes I see this more than others--more awareness. I wonder at the souls on that bus, where they go when they step off into their day. We share that--the day, its newness, its possibility. Each day is that way--its blessing inherent to our momentary choices, to chance encounters. What will become of us today? Where can we become everyday saints? I try to be as hopeful as I can be in my writing--I figure there’s enough negative out there for seconds and thirds...