So much to say, and yet so little.

I’m tired, but it’s a good tired. A happy tired.  A fulfilled tired.

More and more I love the verse in Luke(2:19) that says But Mary kept all these things and pondered them in her heart.  It tells me so much; that even Mary, the mother of Jesus, did not understand everything, that she kept the mysteries in her heart and thought about them.  Pondered them, like I ponder my own mysteries.

Even Mary, the mother of Jesus, did not always understand. 

I saw someone at the track yesterday, someone I last saw standing on a street corner in Charlotte, waiting for the light to change, as I was waiting…for the light to change…for change.  The wind blew his hair, ruffling the blue work shirt he wore, the lunch box he always carried swinging on his hand. And then the light changed, and moments later Sharon and I were on foot on the sidewalk, the stupid black heeled shoes I wore slipping off my feet until I finally let them go, and my bare feet pounded the hot summer sidewalk.  What were we running from? Him? Ourselves?  The microfilm in the library that would finally answer my one remaining question, the answers I did not, particularly, want, but was required to have?  Running from the lack of a death certificate, a picture, an old memory faded in time?

I have no idea now.

I am tired. I am thinking tonight of David, and his face blends with the face I saw in the crowd. Somedays the ghosts all blend together; and the list is starting to be long. Tomorrow night I will probably delete this, let it be lost to the vacuum of cyberspace.  This is probably something I should not write.

I met someone.

If he googles me, he will run across this site.  I know this.  He majored in theater, and now remodels houses.    He wants to move back to North Carolina. He likes country music, NASCAR, real barbecue and sweet tea.  If you listen closely to his voice, you will pick up just the tiniest hint of a southern accent. 

Most astonishing of all, his chosen denomination is PCA Presybterian. 

His name is Bill.

 I thought about this as I caught just the tiniest glimpse of an old but not forgotten face in the crowd today, I thought about Bill, this theater house remodeler Presbyterian Tarheel. 

And I pondered.