the rain came today, and with it the cool, and one tremendous sequence of thunder. i stood on the porch and watched it fall, explaining rain to hazel, who took it all in with wide eyes.
tim is lulling her to sleep now, which is a process sometimes, especially at night. he comes home after a ten-hour day with a young man who is three years old on the inside, and still he musters the patient endurance required to do the day’s dishes, ask his wife about her day, and help his daughter fall soundly asleep. that’s a good man, i tell you what.
our garden, which was planted the day before i went into labor, is an undomesticated cacophony of casually sown seed bearing fruit in spite of the negligence of those who planted it. yesterday morning, nick and kirk came and tended to it a while, their skin glistening with sweat, and now it looks loved again. from beneath the thick mass of run-away green things they extracted two summer squashes of the deepest yellow, two spaghetti squashes, an onion, a handful of yellow beans, and a dozen radishes. soon there’ll be a huge tomato ready to pluck, to slice, to drizzle with olive oil and sprinkle with good salt, and devour.
chris is the sort of neighbor that is so good her picture should be the illustration accompanying the wikipedia entry on Good Neighbor. she is even and especially a good neighbor to the homeless guys who make their home on that abandoned house’s stoop in our alley. today she told me that she landed one of them a job, which is a second chance, which is very much like the kingdom. she has a tattoo on her wrist that i never noticed until today, but was not surprised to see because her life shouts it out: two nails that make a cross, and an ichthus embracing it.
i’m missing Willy Street Co-op in madison. they had gluten-free peanut-butter brownies, baked on site and individually wrapped, for $1.50. any time we wanted a gluten-free baked good we would swing by there to get one. it was divine. i know of no equivalent solution to such cravings in grand rapids.
this upcoming week we wind down from another year of following Jesus as the stockbridge boiler room. we’ll sit together and reflect on what has occurred within us and around us, and we’ll probably drink lots of french-press coffee while we do it. and we’ll clean up the boiler room house and garage so that it can be shut down for the month-long sabbatical. then we’ll spend a day together at a cottage on the beach of lake michigan, then dress up and go out to dinner. exhale.