Just finishing a cup of tea that I
made with lunch and two cookies
I can have because it is Saturday.
I made two small hamburgers
and froze the rest. I put them on
fresh wheat bread because I
wanted my hands free to read.
So fresh in fact, that I put a
thin slice of pepper jack cheese
on the bottom slices of bread to
keep the bread dry. Ketchup only,
no other junk.
She was at her appointment, so I
ate at the table alone reading the
same Michener book that inspired
my post of August 5th.
When I dine with her (or you), I give
you my full attention. No reading, no
TV, no phone. Just you.
Another quarter of an inch of reading
(thick books get read by the inch),
and I’ll be halfway.
My lunch table became a procession
to Jerusalem in 605 BC from Makor.
I climbed the hills with them. I heard
the lowing of the bulls. I, too, danced
in celebration of Yahweh.
I watched as a young Hebrew maiden
wooed her husband-to-be while she
danced ankle-deep around a wine
press trying to keep her ceremonial
white dress from being stained.
I found a stopping point and marked
it lightly with pencil so I know where
to begin next time.
Lucky for us that the God of 605 BC
is the same Yahweh of 2016. A prayer
echoes in my heart still that burned in
the heart of the psalmist David then.
“Pray for the peace of Jerusalem.”