An Errant Design

There were many years when I ran after the Lord, now I sit and wait or I just start talking. The epic poem of my life is on deposit in the ever now where I can withdraw any portion without more loss. The part I am living, the closing lines, are uncomplicated, more of a haiku: the mother looks at his empty room filling it with her unspent love. I live as a minimalist because my reality has become focused. In this way I am not living minimally but more fully as Christ begins to fill my emptiness. Even when I become distracted I know that He is with me wherever I am and at all times. My daughter and I saw Clax, his body, for the first and only time at the place where he was to be cremated. He looked so handsome, natural and well. We spent an hour with him. They had to ask us to leave. He felt very cold as we stroked and held him. I kissed him over and over again. His hair was short and I always loved to feel the whiskery roundness of his head. It still felt the same as he lay naked under a royal blue velvet shroud. We took pictures which I can’t bear to see. We took them in order to hold that last trace, to know it was really true, that he wouldn’t be running in the door again, my beloved prodigal.