Kindling

Last night as I walked down our street to the mailbox, I noticed a young girl, maybe 12 or 13, shooting baskets in her driveway. I do not know her but I recognized her. And as my mind drifted I felt a quiet desire to go down and join in the game. I did not.

I’ve become used to feelings such as this and recognize them as a grasping toward the past. My mind is reaching back to recapture time with our young daughters – time and memories that have been drawing me back so frequently of late. This is not a sad or unpleasant feeling. It’s just there, ever-present and beneath the surface. I’ll see something or someone and it’s like a tender spark that ignites a little candle. And this candle’s been lit at the grocery, in line for coffee, in traffic and especially at restaurants when Denise and I are invariably seated near a young family with three girls or three boys. These moments always carry me back - willingly.

And lately I’ve grown to recognize a different light in the memory of our beloved dog Lexi. This candle comes in the steps of a passing dog or a distant bark in the night. But I especially notice it as an absence. I'll come in from outside and catch a glimpse of something on the floor or in front of the window. It always proves to be a mislaid coat or a standing package, obediently waiting just as it was left. And it taunts my heart into eager anticipation of her dancing paws and joyous tail.

Yesterday was Lexi's birthday. This was the first year in sixteen that our family would not celebrate by witnessing the frenzied devouring of a McDonald’s hamburger from a plate on the floor in the kitchen. She really loved those burgers. And our children were thrilled with the thought of this special treat for a dog on her special day.

The candle gleamed again yesterday afternoon as I drove down the street from my office. And as silly as it sounds, the kindling was a red sign with golden arches. The burger was great. Thanks Lex - miss you girl.