Perfection
Sunday again. Eggs and little smokies.
Starting in John at church. Covered chapter 1 this morning. The Word. Sent because God so loved the world. That does not mean less than us people. Broken. Or The Word would not have been sent. Sent all the way through Adam, as Luke so thoughtfully (and through inspiration) tells us. I can visualize all those ancestors of Jesus set up like a pipeline. Not haphazard. Not coincidental either. The Word who created flesh became flesh.
Well’s down so we’ve been hauling water to cows. I don’t mind. It’ll just be a couple of days. This evening as I was running water and getting ready to go, I turned around and it struck me like a quirt to the back of the legs. Every so often, if we’re paying attention, we get a glimpse of perfect. Kids playing. Daisy sitting up behind the wheel waiting and smirking at the cat, who was laying beside the pickup saying things cats say to dogs. Junior reminding everyone that someone must have forgotten his groceries. Lambs have to eat, too. But what was perfect was the light. How to explain? I’m not sure I can. Some atmospheric condition that I would imagine photographers dream of. Clear, but beyond clear. Soft, but so much more than just soft. Like we were somehow in the sunset, which I only noticed a few moments later. No, I can’t explain it. But as I was driving down the road I took a picture. Such a waste of time, but maybe will mark the spot. Like a photo of a ball field the day after a championship was won by 1 run on a 3/2, 2 out grand slam. I almost wish I wouldn’t have gone back in to find my phone for the camera as if I could capture perfection. Can’t be done.
