In the church I usually attend there is always room for a seat buffer. Always enough space to stay hidden and unnoticed. Always enough space to avoid eye contact. Always enough space to keep to myself. Always enough space to do my thing (consume) and leave.
Last Sunday I attended a small and cozy space, much different from what I’m used to. There was no seat buffer.
Reading to our son Nash is one of our most beloved rhythms. We enter a world where time stands still and pages spring to life.
I can still remember the very first story Kate and I ever read to Nash. We settled into bed, our infant son swaddled between us, and we opened “On the Night You Were Born” by Nancy Tillman. I managed three words before I was a mess. (The I cannot speak another word variety). Gratitude and thankfulness poured out of me.