A little over a year ago, back when I wished I had more time for writing, I wrote this:
When morning comes glistening
And the man in the beat-up Ford rides with his windows down in the steamy summer morning
And on his back bumper are stickers of guns and “repent….Jesus is coming soon” right next to each other
And he turns on his signal and eases over in front of me, his arm that has been hanging out his window waves at me, slowly, in a way that suggests we’re somewhere on a back country road in Iowa rather than the mix-master over Dallas, Texas at rush hour on a Thursday morning…
…all things are possible in the glistening morning
My imagination lives in eternity
Now I find myself, a little over one year later, in a place my imagination could not have dreamed up in all the eternities it had ever known.
I sit on the back step of a little house on the central coast of California, facing east. Somewhere, a few miles behind me is the great Pacific Ocean. Directly in front of me, I watch the pre-dawn hours turn into a new glistening morning, as the golden sun rises behind the palm trees that continually lift their arms heavenward. I watch my beautiful orange cat, who has now become fully Californian, jump up on the fence next to me, trying to get a glimpse of his slightly less orange buddy who lives next door. He never really knows what to do once he catches that glimpse though. His back arches slightly and his tail bushes out in anticipation while he waits. I hear a bird calling out in a long, flutish whooooo, as he gently circles, wings spread wide, before landing on the uppermost branch of the tallest tree around. It sways slightly under his weight while he sits there, taking in the view of this glistening morning. I sense my family, sleeping peacefully in the tiny house behind me and my heart longs for the fullness of all that has been and all that is to come for each of them.
I did not know that we would be here, a little over one year ago. I did not know that we would find men in beat-up Fords, with their arms hanging out of their windows, driving their trucks directly onto the powdery sand of the beach, with gigantic two-sided flags waving off the back of their tailgates: one side American and one side Confederate. I did not know how difficult it would be to find a place of our own to live. I did not know how amazing it would feel to sit out here, in layers of clothing, wrapped in a big blanket, drinking my coffee and taking the time to write, while watching the eastern sky turn from deepness to rose-streaked to golden.
Eternity can be challenging to the imagination.