The midnight oil


Mist swirls up off the hot earth into the cool night air, as if the hurry of the day scurries up off the planet into the peace of the sky in drifts like dross.


If you steady your eyes long enough on a single point of black on the horizon, you can watch the stars blur as they fall across the velvet like comets. Shooting stars to wish upon, makes no difference who you are, anything your heart desires will come to you...


And so stare, up at True north, breathe in the quiet, let go the noise of the day, shake loose the dust of too many commitments and close eyes to tasks undone at day's end. Breathe deep the rich misty moist, listen long the cricket song, hold close the early August last days of summer, dream babies sleeping in beds, try to find sleep that somewhere hides elusive in the shadows of the thick night.


Sins swept away with the morning coming soon, held up to heaven by the pine bows worshiping in the moon's happy glow, the clouds gathering close like a silver mirror in a bowl across the western sky. The kittens scramble across the porch boards, learning night vision hunting tricks from mother yowling, two little bodies scurrying with feet as loud as elephants in the stillness. The swing creaks in the humid air, and I sigh a little sigh of regret and longing, thoughts drifting to tasks of the dawn: no milk for breakfast and what-shall-we-eat-tomorrow? I turn toward the dark house and the chocolate sheets where my lover slumbers and have a waking dream of a night of no insomnia. But then who would see the beauty of a mist-laden night in the moonshine when August is just beginning?
I have swept away your offenses like a cloud, your sins like the morning mist. Return to me, for I have redeemed you. (Isaiah 44:22)





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Note: Caleb is doing well! Thanks for all the prayers! His puncture wound is healing beautifully, and the symptoms we thought might be a reaction to the shot he received turned out to be a simple cold virus, just as the doctor thought they might be. In the 24 hours following our last ER visit, Rosy and I both came down with the same cold symptoms, reassuring us that Caleb did, indeed, just have a head cold. God was just asking us, once again, to lean hard and trust Him. We did, and we are through the thick of it and out the other side, just living normal life again, normal busy life, trying to keep hard shoes and socks on a little boy who is used to running barefoot. Please keep the puncture wound in your prayers as it can get badly infected for up to 3 weeks following the injury.