This week I was transported back in time.

Short of actual time travel, I cannot conceive of a more thorough free fall down memory lane than my preparations for our Moving Sale, Everything Must Go! impulsively blocked with the self-conscious whimsy of the opening night of a new director’s very off Broadway play.

As I tore through dressers, closets, hidden caches, and deep corners, I excavated the landscape of our family history of like an archeologist on a dig.

I found pictures
and artwork,
letters
and lovies,
treasures
and stains.

As captains, my closest circle of cherished friends surrounded me with tangible help as well as practical and emotional support.

One dear friend who walked it with me was almost constantly at my side.

Each morning,
she showed up 
with Starbucks
and proceeded
not just to the day’s chores,
but kicked my ass,
encouraged me,
cried,
laughed,
cajoled,
hugged,
teased,
threatened,
made me eat peanut butter apples,
scolded
and bid me rest
as was needed 
in turns
like stations.

The entire process underscores a gift of Words given me on wings of the Holy Dove:

The events of our lives are not randomly thrown together coincidences
cooked up by a whimsical universe,


The Stations of our lives are supernaturally architected God-incidents
crafted by a loving Father.

I don’t have a notebook thick enough to catalogue all the God-incidents of this one especially dense week of challenge and discovery.

God-incidents happen 24/7 @1623 and evermore.

Well there was a time when you let me know
What’s really going on below
But now you never show that to me do you?
And remember when I moved in you?
And the holy dove was moving too
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah!