Tuesday, September 17, 2013


Something about chilly days that makes the woodsmoke smells seep fresh from the stoves. Christmas Cookie candle burning on the stove top. Cindy's recipe for apple pie in my hands, for tonight's dessert (and Lanie's breakfast tomorrow--she loves pie nights for breakfast mornings).

12:15 p.m. Timer's counting an hour for a lunch and play break before we get back to school. Papers dated and stacked for filing. List items getting crossed off. Laundry tumbling in the dryer. Floors swept. It's chilly in the house, and I'm still in capris--summer holdout.

Thinking about stumbling blocks. A discussion with Lanie this morning over stumbling blocks, those stones in my path I need to remove more regularly than I'd like to admit. I think of stone throwers and my smile, forced, in public places, but inside I wonder: why do you throw blocks in my path? So I will stumble? So I will wound? So you can get ahead? Is this a race against each other?

I move the stone away again, and wonder if it will ever really be gone.

Laundry tumbles in the room next to me. Soon Cindy's apple pie fragrance will fill the rooms of this house again, and I'm happy she lives here still, so to speak, and has become part of my family's history. Lanie will always remember cold apple pie at breakfast. And I will always serve it warm at my table for Thanksgiving.

I talk to Lanie about stumbling blocks and sisters and sisters-in-Christ, and it's a begging born from experiences I'd sometimes rather forget: please don't put those blocks in a sister's way. Be it bloodline or in Christ, don't wound and target and hurl those blocks so that a sister spends her life pushing away memories, struggling to forgive, stumbling to move past.

I don't know if she gets it, how deeply I mean it.

3:30 p.m. It's time to make a pie. Fall-like weather outside my windows. Music playing throughout the house, and a school space, now clean and tidied for the next time we gather. My house smells cozy and sweet from the candle. 

Today, for now, I drop the weight of blocks outnumbered by abundance of blessing.

I keep my eyes on Jesus, and run.

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