January 18, 2013


It's been a long time since I took 5 minutes to write on a Friday with Lisa-Jo. Today, I did.


"Come look!" I hollered.
And they came running when I added, "It's the sun!"

Just two minutes earlier, I had entered the family room and it was aglow. It took a moment to register. The lights weren't on, but a golden hue enveloped the room. Spreading wide the curtains, my face warmed and my eyes adjusted. There it was. The sun.

It's been ten days since we've seen the sun shine,
and this ain't Seattle. {Sorry, Uncle Ben, I know you like your Seattle}

Murky weather of rain mist, clouds, and fog have all overcast our skies. They have been our plight, our plague these past days. Not even snow beautified the gray cast clouds worn overhead.
Only rain so thin it wouldn't pitter patter roof tops or gurgle through rain spouts.

And fog.

Who could forget the fog?
Fog so thick one Sunday a person could barely see.
We slowly drove to church thinking it would lift by our return home.

Late to arrive, we slipped into the sanctuary.
The youngest sped up the left aisle, trying to claim our 'usual' seats.
Pews were filled.
He was called back seven rows in a loud whisper.
He was dismayed.
"We could sit there," he declares, pointing to an empty space to the right, near the center aisle.
"We are fine here," I try to persuade him, not wanting to disrupt the beginning of service any longer.
He points out several closer-to-our-normal-spot places.

He begins naming people we normally sit beside as if the nearby faces are unacceptable.
My eyes wash over the backs of heads, those we normally sit near.
She is among them. A woman of many years and gray hair. A woman who always sits near us and smiles when our rambunctious group tumbles into pew seats each week, fumbling with coats and Bibles and shushing voices.

I saw her from behind that very morning.
The same morning with the fog,
the fog so thick you could barely see.
So thick there was bound to be accidents, car accidents, terrible car accidents, ones that take a person's life. And there were ones just as terrible as anyone can imagine with lives lost.
Hers was one.

The news hits hard,
shocking deep into the core of a soul.
How quickly a life is here, then gone.

She rests with Jesus now.
Gone ahead of us who remain.
A sorrow eclipses,
and gray cast clouds cover.

The weather mimicking.
Misty rain falls on roofs.
Coverings of clouds remain.

Until this morning.
For today, on Friday, the sun rose.

Sensations of warmth,
with a message of hope
are found in one sun rise.
It is a moment to cherish.

"I'm taking a picture," I add. "Who knows when we'll see it again."
I smile. The children laugh.
"Mom," the youngest girl says,
"the sun always rises. We just can't always see it."


Confession: I didn't finish this in five minutes straight like I planned. There were several interruptions, questions about Algebra to be answer, a load of wash to transfer, and a dog to be told to get off a sofa. It all totaled 15 minutes. Maybe I wrote for just 5 minutes, maybe more. Pictures uploaded after time check and of course, I like to fix spelling mistakes.

~ Dorie


  1. This is gorgeous and rich and beautifully expressed!

  2. Powerful close to a beautiful piece. What a wise little girl you have. :)

  3. Dorie, this is amazing. It brought me back to the days when our boys raced up the aisles in church, and I agree with Rebekah, you have one wise little girl. The confession is priceless. Rosanne

  4. So lovely. The days when the weather is bleak is when I remind myself that the sun rises each day, but somedays we just can't see it. You have a very wise daughter!


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