Those moments when things came into true view just because I dug a hole, started a fire, heard a wind chime, laid down next to him, gave water to plants, put glasses on tired eyes... Foolish or just strikingly imaginary? Sometimes both.
Put me on stage with a bow, shaking through every plow across the bridge. Watch the sun creep through the blinds and project slats onto the bed spread. In the middle of everything, they propel you backwards, making you measure memories as they compare to that moment and merge present with past with future. At times, all you know is that it feels like one of those "life to the full" moments.
And then like a puff of smoke it dissipates and you're left changed or unchanged. That's for you to decide. Many carry these like charms on a bracelet or locks on a bridge. As if a lengthy bibliography and hoarding polaroids in a shoe box makes you the person in the photograph.
So I think we just encounter and offer praise in the details. Praise God of the cold breath that crystallizes, the freedom of a Friday evening and the loosened muscles after long stretching. That in His protection, refuge and hiding place we can tromp like children in circles, laughing at their stringy hair and too-big bracelets. We can play and notice the teensy glitter specks of his Great Love.
