It’s Sunday morning. My family and I are usually getting ready for church. It’s my job to get my son (8) dressed in churchy clothes. I also comb his hair. It’s my wife’s job to critique my work. Do his clothes match? Does his hair look good? It’s a system, a good system, a routine that I enjoy; however, thanks to Hurricane Sandy, our church, Jacksonville Chapel in Lincoln Park, NJ, is powerless. Electricity is presently a rare and valued commodity in Northern New Jersey. Sadly, this morning’s church service has been cancelled. Lord willing, we’ll be back in church next week.
It’s 8am. My son is wearing a Snoopy t-shirt and a pair of jeans with a hole in the right knee. And his hair, it’s still disheveled. (So is mine.) Obviously, I’ve a bit more time than I usually have on a Sunday morning, time to think a bit, time to wonder.
That’s why I write. That’s why I’m a poet. Well, it’s one reason, anyway. I wonder. As much as I can, I sit still and wonder.
In my next post, I’ll explore this “wondering” a bit more. I’ll wonder why I wonder.
