From my teenage son's friend's blog

erik in 2nd block english: "Al, do you think you could draw a picture of God?"

al [nonchalantly]: "Yes, but I will need a mirror."

The Music of God

Portage is an offshoot of Kalamazoo, a branch that kept creeping southward from the downtown area, and sprouted strips of shopping malls, businesses, organizations, and eventually seedlings of housing developments with bigger lawns that planted shoots of affluent schools. There is no downtown, per se, not like it's older brother, the 'Zoo. It has the money and the shiny school buildings, but no downtown hub, no real flavor or character. No homeless or out-of-work people standing on street corners though, either.

Today is a gloomy, Michigan fall day. The rain is a steady drizzle of bone-chilling wetness and the sky overhead looks painted in a garage-floor battleship grey. Headlights don't really illuminate anything; neither do the autumn leaves that still cling to some of the trees cut through the greyness. Even their fall finery has muted to shades of tans and burgundies. Most would call it an ugly day.

I cut through the side street by KMart to shortcut my way back to work off the main thoroughfare. I glanced over, and there on a small pie-slice of concrete that separated two lanes of traffic stood a man. On this small wedge of space he stood there serenely playing a violin. Something about the oddness, the out-of-placeness cut into my spirit. In the midst of nondescript commercial buildings and rushing vehicles I briefly encountered a thing of beauty and heard the sounds of heaven wafting through my window. It was one of those moments when the world around you suddenly emerges in sharp detail, illumined by an interior light of the soul, and you see the web of God stretching over everything, everywhere.

Advent Giving Calendar

Darla, (Zoo Gal over there on the left in my blog links), who is my unofficial business rep, has convinced me that it's all right to profit from the Advent Giving Calendar I created for my church. I mean, that would be a blessing for me as a single mom, but without Darla's enthusiastic encouragement I wouldn't even thought of it. It was just going to be something I did for my church, and gave to people like Darla, who has a heart full of love and full of Christ. (Is that redundant?)

If you'd like to know more about this, it's on my web site: GoodrichDesign.net
Oh! And if you'd really like the file to print and don't have any money, let me know, okay?

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Last Gestures

Amy's dad may be gone by now, as Amy got a call at work today to say to come as soon as possible, the last of the cancer vigil in the nursing home was almost over. A couple of days ago Amy's only sibling, Jill, flew in from Oregon to be with her dad and say good-bye. Amy and her husband both have good jobs in management for companies. Jill's a stay-at-home mom who's married to a surgeon. George, their dad, was a Methodist minister for many years; his wife was a homemaker.

George had been briefly awake when he heard that his oldest daughter was flying in to see him and that Amy was on her way down the road to the airport to pick her up. "Get something to eat when you pick up Jill," he told Amy in his whisper of a voice. "Have Mother give you some money. It'll be our treat."

There is something about this that keeps echoing in my soul. The sweetness of a father wanting to treat his daughters to dinner, even though they have plenty of money. The caring about his family and others that is so deep it's not even lost in the bigness of impending death. The poignancy of the old-fashioned phrase I haven't heard in a long time. "It'll be our treat."

The love of it all just bring tears to my eyes.