"Searching for a handle on the moment?"

Moments.

Good ones, bad one. String some together and an event happens. But it is the moments that so quickly pass us by, leaving us searching for a handle that we might hold on just a bit longer.

we stood there in the lake that day. The sun was shining off her eyes. She was so beautiful. Breath taking. I kissed her. We were so young. I had no clue what I was doing. She knew that.

I rolled over and looked at her, lying there as a glow seemed to cover her face. Beauty that comes from commitment and loyalty, beauty that comes from within. Peacefully she slept. I thought of all the wonderful moments we have shared together through the years. When she wakes, she smiles. And the light shines in the room.

He was so tiny. As I carried him I talked to him. He slept most of the walk. I was so young, he was so small. When I told him how much I loved him he woke up and our eyes met. He recognized me, or at least it looked like he did. Even if he didn't, it could not have happened at a more wonderful time.

She was in so much pain. Her ears hurt so bad. I held her tight and she cried. A couple of times as the pain subsided, she would look at me and smile. She did not understand why she was hurting. But she knew if daddy could take the pain away, he would. She cried, I cried and we waited. Finally the nurse called us to the back. She was scared but she knew I would protect her.

We got to the part when it was my turn to speak. I looked at him and at her and began to read the words trying to choke back the lump that had grew in my throat. But my notes were different than what he said. We were both supposed to say the same thing. He spoke to his daughter, I spoke to my son. But he left off part of my notes. He had them memorized, but I had only done 2 weddings. But we got through. He mumbled under his breath loud enough for me to hear. I repeated what he said, and my son repeated what I said.

He walked into the room where we had been waiting for what seemed to be an eternity. His face was red, his eyes were watering. Joy fell from him as drops of rain falling from the sky. The room was filled with anticipation. As eloquently as he knew how, he described his own son as he was born. "he is so freaking beautiful" he cried. He cried, we all cried.

her eyes were filled with sadness. Tears were drippin from her face onto the blanket in her lap. She is grown now, I thought. My little girl is all grown up. But through the disappointment and sadness, and even in the midst of anger, my little girl peeked through and I was reminded where love reigns.

It actually felt like my body had come off the floor and I was floating around the building. I heard my self praying, but there was a presence there. I was both excited and filled with terror. Words came from my spirit, deep groanings that seemed to call out to the very throne. Time seemed to stand still. A river flowed from my heart and what seemed like a mist settled over the room. I said Amen, and returned to the seat along side my wife. Yet the sense of holiness and wonder had not left. I could not sing, I could not speak, all I could do was cry. In the midst of 3500 people, I was alone on the mount looking directly into the Bush that had burned since eternity past. I was on holy ground.

I was waken from a dead sleep. He called my name, and immediately, I knew the voice. As I crawled from bed I noticed it was 3 am. For the next 3 hours, this loving God I had come to know and recently taken so much for granted, had showered me with His wrath. For three hours I wept. Whom He loves, He reproves.

To this day a phone that rings while I sleep sends shivers down my spine. Weeping violently on the other end of the phone line my mother choked out the words "Jeff he is dead. Tony is dead"
the 3 hour drive was spent mostly in quiet assurance that there had been some sort of mistake. There was no way this was real. I knew when I pulled up in the yard he would be there. He was not.

These are a few moments in my life. The handle as faded on some, no grip to get my hand onto from years of trying to hold on. Others, however, call out to me from a deep place and I hopelessly try to get some grip.

I find that pain and joy fill the same place. I find that loss and hope both are more dear.

control has always been a lie.

moments in time make up our lives. Some hurt, other feel good. I am sure I would take one over the other, but the chance or the offer has never been given.