"Velma opened her eyes to discover she was standing in the barn. Their old barn made new again. She was looking at the tanned, sweating back of a man. He was stripped to the waist and held something metal in his hands---something he was sharpening. Her first funny thought in all of this was that she had legs. This was an old fact and a brand-new fact that rushed into her because she felt them---her legs---standing strong like she hadn't felt in, well...Just how long had it been since her legs could carry her forward without a doubt or a care? She lifted her hands, and they were spotless, just the flesh of her, no evidence of where they'd been or the toil they'd endured.
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...The man wasn't just any man. It was her man.....
Joe moved, lifted his head like he had heard something calling from far, far away. Then he turned and looked at her, was looking at her right now, and she was drowning in her man's blue eyes. He studied her, her fingers at her lips, her eyes full of wonder and heat and promises, and he emptied his hands before he stepped forward. This, right now, is forever, she thought. This moment is forever and always. It is everything."~from Saints in Limbo by River Jordan
I began reading this book again last night and some things rang true. With my mom's stroke, I've shared that I look at things differently. Not all the time, but a considerable enough time. I'm learning to cherish things more. It seems to be a natural progression to see the threat of death in the face, and be more attentive toward the simple events of the day. Like the quote above.
In the story, Velma has been widowed a year and is desperately missing her husband of many years. I won't spoil the story, but she is granted the ability to see into the past, to re-live certain events and relish them like she probably didn't do when they happened the first time. We do get so used to the daily things and we don't always realize that that very moment might be the last time. Like the last time a baby nurses. You don't always know that it'll be his/her last time to reach for you in that special way. Or the last time you bake a particular dessert, read a certain book, or look into a loved one's face.
I so adore the way this writer calls our attention to those moments. And in that same context, we got our very first letter from Joseph at Basic Training. Now I can go to bed. My day is done (kidding). I'm happy. :)
