By Kimberly Eridon
In music
In making music at the quarterly pub gospel sing
In missing making music with others at the pub sing
In books I read that make me laugh
In books that make me think
In books that let me cry
In books I have to avoid because I can't handle what they require
In books I slowly, thoughtfully push my way through
because I need to learn from them
In the book of Romans where I have been reading the same chapters
over and over
In shows I watch
In voices of the audiobook readers
In the sound of slamming doors and shouting and swearing from the neighbors
In loud, startling, frantic barks of the neighbors' pet in our pet-free building
In the smoke filling my house from the neighbors' cigarettes
and the deep coughs it causes me
In the rough and gravelly voice that keeps breaking from all the smoke when I try
to sing
In songs I sing along with
In songs I can't sing along with because of the tears
In careful conversation with my parents and their growing fear and extremism
In online work meetings when I am doing a great job
In online work meetings when my brain isn't functioning,
and I can't even speak coherently
In the voices of the podcasters who help me think about the world
In the laughter I create in others
In hours when my sister isolates herself more and finds excuses not to talk
until I give up
In the grief we are all living through in a fallen world
In bed when I'm still awake from the pain
In the desk chair where I have to rest after too short of a time standing
In the shoulder that slips out of place all the time when it's irritated
In the knee brace that keeps my leg straight
In frustrating pain in my knee and ankle when I move
In my couch when I am elevating and icing and resting
In the friend who comes over masked up to fix the exercise bike
that's the only way I can do rehab
In the text from the friend with mental illness who hasn't answered in too long
In the brothers who brought distilled water during the shortage
In the sister who is calling church members like me to help us stay connected
In the pastor who responds thoughtfully in a time of crisis
In times I spend worshiping along with online church services
In words I can't write because there's too much physical pain,
and I can't bear facing the voice recognition software and all the corrections
I will have to make
In words I write and the pain that follows and intensifies
because I just need a little longer to finish
In the beauty of the falling snow seen from inside a warm place with blankets
In moments of creativity
In moments of blankness
In my house where I live alone
In the chair every week when the Squirrel Small Group meets online to share
wisdom and struggles and joy with the people of God who have chosen to be a
regular part of each other’s lives
In moments when the pain blots out everything
In beautiful places full of soaring carved stonework and stained glass
In the furnace (whether He saves me from the fire or not)
In the years of reaching out for the hem of His robe
When Christ is Real
By Kimberly Eridon
In music
In making music at the quarterly pub gospel sing
In missing making music with others at the pub sing
In books I read that make me laugh
In books that make me think
In books that let me cry
In books I have to avoid because I can't handle what they require
In books I slowly, thoughtfully push my way through
because I need to learn from them
In the book of Romans where I have been reading the same chapters
over and over
In shows I watch
In voices of the audiobook readers
In the sound of slamming doors and shouting and swearing from the neighbors
In loud, startling, frantic barks of the neighbors' pet in our pet-free building
In the smoke filling my house from the neighbors' cigarettes
and the deep coughs it causes me
In the rough and gravelly voice that keeps breaking from all the smoke when I try
to sing
In songs I sing along with
In songs I can't sing along with because of the tears
In careful conversation with my parents and their growing fear and extremism
In online work meetings when I am doing a great job
In online work meetings when my brain isn't functioning,
and I can't even speak coherently
In the voices of the podcasters who help me think about the world
In the laughter I create in others
In hours when my sister isolates herself more and finds excuses not to talk
until I give up
In the grief we are all living through in a fallen world
In bed when I'm still awake from the pain
In the desk chair where I have to rest after too short of a time standing
In the shoulder that slips out of place all the time when it's irritated
In the knee brace that keeps my leg straight
In frustrating pain in my knee and ankle when I move
In my couch when I am elevating and icing and resting
In the friend who comes over masked up to fix the exercise bike
that's the only way I can do rehab
In the text from the friend with mental illness who hasn't answered in too long
In the brothers who brought distilled water during the shortage
In the sister who is calling church members like me to help us stay connected
In the pastor who responds thoughtfully in a time of crisis
In times I spend worshiping along with online church services
In words I can't write because there's too much physical pain,
and I can't bear facing the voice recognition software and all the corrections
I will have to make
In words I write and the pain that follows and intensifies
because I just need a little longer to finish
In the beauty of the falling snow seen from inside a warm place with blankets
In moments of creativity
In moments of blankness
In my house where I live alone
In the chair every week when the Squirrel Small Group meets online to share
wisdom and struggles and joy with the people of God who have chosen to be a
regular part of each other’s lives
In moments when the pain blots out everything
In beautiful places full of soaring carved stonework and stained glass
In the furnace (whether He saves me from the fire or not)
In the years of reaching out for the hem of His robe