I spent a half hour yesterday watching my granddaughter Logann ride her bike in our driveway at the manse. She fell only once, reskinning her knee. She sat in my lap with her head on my shoulder and felt better.

   So did I.

   In the evening we went down the road, Jeremy, Logann and I to see the herd of deer they have found in our neighborhood. One yearling kicked and cavorted for our pleasure. Logann laughed at the silly deer.

   I am rereading Bernard Malamud's The Fixer. I first read it as a fifteen year old boy, forty years ago. It is not for the faint-hearted. It is a novel of fire and hatred.

   I stayed up late to get mostly through the novel. This morning I got up early to go to the local cafe and meet with my teenagers. There were nine today, our most so far. I dearly love them. You would too if you met them. We are talking about how to know there is God and that God cares. They are very patient.

   I have a sermon to write this morning, having redone our worship folder and Wednesday evening prayer guide and given the worship order for Sunday morning to our office staff. We are reconstructing the church roll, so we can more effectively reach our own people. It is enough to do and yet some time for contemplation, which thing I do not yet want to let pour out my heart and down my arms as long fingers caress a keyboard.

   I will think again one day soon but, for now, it is more than enough just to feel, to wonder if love and freedom wait barely beyond my reach for now or forever, to hug up my grandson and long for the day he will reach for me. After the horror of the last decade, I almost feel myself ready to trust again.

   It is enough.

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