After such a rich week at Preachers’ Camp,
we were among the last left in the house
running the last loads of towels through the wash.
And in the grief of the emptiness following such rich fullness,
having said way too many goodbyes in too short a time,
she said (all of eight years old) in her sadness,
“What if we imagine …?
What if we imagine that Anita’s gone for a run …,
and that Jim, Christy and Catherine are at the store,
and that everyone else is down by the dock or out on the boat.”
“And why aren’t we?” I queried.
“Mom’s cooking. My face is stinging and so I had to come inside,
and you two are taking a break.”
“Well … if we’re imagining, then are Dorisanne and Adam down at the dock too?”
(Dorisanne was the first to leave this year, and Adam wasn’t able to come at all.)
Her face brightened, “Yes!” she exclaimed.
What a blessing that her best imagining is a remembering.
I need to remember to remind us of that …
preacher that I am.