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The Days and Nights of Our Lives

We had a simple meal tonight, but there was something about the order that was appealing to me. Peace in the orderliness? Maybe that’s it. It’s peaceful and orderly.


We took our places at the table. We said, “Thank you” for what we were about to receive.


It’s the little things that are the most important. Maybe I’m noticing because the world is so slowed down.


This afternoon, I watched my granddaughter calmly help catch a dog in a parking lot for a woman. She walked slowly, then bent toward the dog. She and a young man who’d been pushing carts stopped their world to help the woman get her dog. It went well. The young man handed the dog back to the owner.


The woman said “Thank you” to the two young people, who helped her get the dog back into the car. The woman was okay, the dog was okay. All ended well.


What I saw: how distraught the woman was, how calm my granddaughter was, and how quickly she moved to help get the dog for the owner. Patience, kindness, peaceful.


I told Haven, my granddaughter, that I was proud of how she’d handled all that happened. She smiled and helped me put groceries in the car. We drove out of the parking lot. Not another word about it.


Little things. Big things.


I’m aware of so many who are carrying heavy weights every day. The world is changing. It’s a tough time. It’s a time of transition. Stressors galore.


Some will move through this time peacefully; some won’t.


But we all got through Kindergarten or First Grade one day at a time. We can do this. One day at a time.



An Offering of Peace


My country is breaking.

As worrisome as floodwaters.

Like unknowns, it can rob me

of my peace.


I work hard to see the harmony

nestling here and there:

the musical snoring of the dog

next to me on the floor;

my husband’s remembering

to kiss me goodnight,

better than a cradlesong.


It is nothing, it is everything!


May this little poem become

a haven for someone out there,

someone who bears a heavy weight.


I lie still and wait for sleep.

The soft light from the dining room,

still burning. Another offering.