Forever Waters

“They’re not angry. They’re just grateful.” That was how one volunteer described the desperate people he was rescuing from Hurricane Harvey’s flooding. I watched as the news showed two Good Samaritan’s navigating flooded Houston-area streets in a motorboat. Images flashed across the screen. Victims who had been rescued—a baby in his mother’s arms, young children drenching wet, and bewildered older women. Shortly after seeing this short news clip, I went to bed. Ninety minutes

I’ve known her all my life. Aunt Dort, I called her, short for Aunt Dorothy. But in the past few years, she became much more to me. As a child, I visited her house, played with her older daughter, ate her meals. One of my many aunts, I didn’t get to know her personally until I grew up and she grew older. Thirteen years ago, she moved to assisted living after radiation treatments for brain cancer. Not long after, I started visiting her. I didn’t visit often and at first it was

This week I’m recovering from an especially painful episode. Sometimes the skin on my hands have sores and the cracks when exposed to too much moisture. It’s not until the condition produces pain that I notice it. The treatment is three-fold: less exposure to moisture, application of a prescription cream and hand lotion, and more thorough drying of my hands. All of which take intentionality. This week I’ve also been thinking about my words. I’ve gotten the message in a book I