spinning from the past two weeks, the past eight years — surrounded by a boundless love, neck-deep in it, in awe of the mighty power of it. shows up like fresh baked bread, a cup-ah-coffee atop a desert rock at sunrise (and the San Bernardino mountains look just like the album art for Sam Evian’s cover of Gerry Rafferty’s ‘Right Down The Line.’), then a knife down the center of a pork chop. it’s your whisper across the space station — reaching me in surround sound. we just chalk it up to Venusian science. it’s our family and friends (one in the same) and the good gift of presence: a feeling words can’t serve. standing at the top of salvation mountain, carving out our own slab, finding stars in the telescope — knowing them as windows God’s peering through. I have a belly full of gratitude.