A snapshot

An experiment in stream of consciousness and poemic prose - apologies to both of you who read this.



A snapshot of us, from all angles.

From a close-up angle - I sit here, writing, surrounded by lights and sounds and smells. The sounds that mean my home, my world. The sounds of my children, sleeping, breathing through the thin walls of my old home. The slightly dim lights of the same older home, which seems to never have all fully functional lightbulbs. The smell, tonight, of disenfectant and sickness. My home is full of the remnants of a nasty stomach bug. Fast moving, praise God, but hard hitting. Home.

From a step farther back - the lights glow through the windows, seeming bright in the night. The TV flickers. The house is shut up tightly, closed against the chilly spring dark. The sounds here are of night bugs and birds. Faintly, the cars from the highway a half mile away provide a backdrop. The smell is fresh, spring-like, and cool. Home.

From a step farther back - Faintly, the lights can be seen through the trees. The yard is dark. It smells of the country, rural America. Still, quiet, Home.

From the farthest point - the Father sees not the house, smells not the spring night. He is the Light. His home is our hearts, if we open them. Our prayers are His sweet incense.

View it all from farther away, and the details become more clear, not less so. The important details shine, the extraneous disappears.

A snapshot of us, from all angles.