Loving in the Margins

Today the waiter who served me at lunch was a skinny college boy whose clothes hung off of him.  He wore an odd looking hat and had piercings. He was very kind to me. The girl who took my money had dyed black hair, black fingernails, multiple piercings, and a leather bracelet, but she sang a little tune to herself and she also was very kind to me. It surprised me that they were kind, and convicted me that I was surprised. I realized that they didn’t have to be kind. I was wearing a suit and looked like an upper middle class lily-white snob. I was convicted to the point of tears when I realized that all of my life I have lived without tenderness, without humility, without gentleness toward so many. I thought I was better than them. Oh, no, I never said that out loud…not with my mouth anyway.
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Spinning Tunnels

I’ve lived near Los Angeles for nearly twenty years, and I finally went to Universal Studios with my brother-in-law. We rode the tour bus past movie sets and props. Then the bus stopped in a narrow tunnel. And, because this was Hollywood, the tunnel started turning—the whole tunnel, counterclockwise.
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Stuck in the Mud

It had rained all month long. Literally. I was discouraged and worried that my tender garden, planted just 13 weeks earlier wouldn’t be able to absorb much more rain. I decided it was time to venture out into my soppy, muddy garden and inspect the damage. I slipped on a pair of old flip-flops, grabbed my garden hoe, gloves and pail, and trotted to the back of the property where my garden was planted.
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Help Is On The Way

Last night an ambulance barreled down our quiet cul-de-sac at two in the morning. Bright lights whirling around, illuminating bits and pieces of the neighborhood. When the hues of orange and yellow lit up the faces of family, I detected concern. They witnessed their loved one wheeled out on a gurney, strapped in and curled up on her side. What could the problem be? Maybe she was severely dehydrated from a bout with a stomach virus or perhaps she had a fall down the stairs. All I was left to do was pray, so pray I did.
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The Real Thing

By Cheri Cowell

My mother’s favorite dessert is banana pudding. Now if the only banana pudding you’ve had is the kind made with vanilla pudding, you have not had real banana pudding. For my mother’s birthday I made the real kind of banana pudding: scalded milk, egg yolks, sugar, and vanilla over a double broiler, layered with the bananas and wafers, topped with a meringue. It tastes nothing like the vanilla pudding version. Looks like it, but doesn’t taste like it. Real and sincere love is like that. The counterfeit version looks like it from a distance, but doesn’t measure up.
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