A main difference between dreams and poetry is that seeing dream images is involuntary and effortless, while seeing images in words—reading with imagination—requires intention and participation. You can’t speed read poetry.
The same is true of memory. I must concentrate to bring images to life. The life that comes to mind this morning is a little boy, Boaz by name. He is my grandson, age two. I see a beautiful red-cheeked cherub, a toddler. Boaz is “chunky,” his mother, my daughter Kezia, says, sturdy and full of heart. I am remembering yesterday when he visited. Now in contemplation he appears again as when he toddled through the front door. Seeing me he lifted his arms in open embrace, with a big smile and so much love.
I cherish this image. I soak in the memory: his enthusiasm, his wide smile and his bright eyes, and his lifted arms make one image. And it carries a strong feeling of love.
I bring the image to mind again in the writing. I want to keep this image alive as long as I can. I will add it to a growing library of blessings. When I bring it to mind now and dwell with it, I feel joy, refreshed, and grateful. That is what it means to count a blessing. It means also, to count on it.
This is such a simple secret Eve Ilsen gave us, to count blessings. To know there are little moments in each day full of light that I can return to in memory. If only I learned better what two-year-old Boaz already knows, how important to hold close those I love.
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