Friday, January 6, 2012


I fell asleep outside on my porch today because it was 65 degrees. My dad and kids were all happily occupying the house inside.

When I woke up something was hanging around the edges of my consciousness.

I walked in and asked my dad "Was I dedicated at a small white church when I was really little?"

"Yeah - Whig Methodist outside of Platteville. But you were really little. Like 2 or 3."

"Did we eat at a ranch-style house afterwards?"

"I don't remember."

My mom got home soon thereafter. I asked her the same questions. "Was I dedicated?"

"Yeah but you were 1 years old. How could you remember that?"

"Did we eat at a ranch-style house afterwards?"

"Yeah, Carson Culver's sisters house."

I stared off into space. Literally. "I think I was wearing a red dress? I remember feeling completely pretty, and I remember a nice woman saying to me 'That's Jan and Al's granddaughter' and I was so proud because I knew that was something good. I was in someone's arms - probably yours - and I think that nice lady or another one handed you a sealed envelope with a card in it."

Maybe it was the smell and feel of the air today and having my parents around loving me for three days that triggered the memory. But I am remembering my prof at Belmont yesterday talking about Chronos and Kairos time, how Kairos time transports us from ordinary time and marks something bigger and ceremonies are a part of it. "Like a wedding, or a birth."

Maybe that dedication to the Good God made my heart open to those happy feelings of beauty and pride and a joyful day. Maybe the brightness lingers and sears it into us and makes it possible for Kairos to be re-entered for a misty second when you're waking up from a nap when you're 30.