When he hears the jingle of my keys as I come into the house, Isaiah drops whatever he is doing and comes thumping along on his stubby feet, half crying and half laughing his name for me, which is “Daa.” I pick him up, he wraps his short arms around my neck, rests his head on my shoulder, and goes, “Mmmmm.” He makes this noise over and over, like I am a warm bath, or a piece of candy, or maybe just a song with which he is harmonizing. Then the other boys crowd around, stepping on my toes, snuggling up close, grabbing hold like I am the tree of life. They have this completely backwards, because it is they who are life, but when this happens I wonder how heaven can be any better.
This is How You Will Heal the Wound
This little essay came to me more as a dream or a prayer, and people seem to like it, so I thought I’d share it
