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From kitchen window broom stands against garage door, askew. What lies beyond the door of this day—off center, all lopsided and cockeyed?

I rinse my cup and listen to water rushing from the faucet through my fingers. Cup shines. What can bear a stain?

Day unfolds in threes. First, a test from Sunday’s sermon. “That’s too much to expect,” husband said in car on ride home, “the unspeakable joy, spoke of…”

“That is the point,” I said. “We rise above situations through faith.” He shook his head. I shook mine.

Monday morning, my chest burned by 9:00. My cheeks; grew hot with humiliation by the 11:00 o’clock hour. Crushing sadness struck at 4:00.

What of this joy?

While broom stood askew that day, a door of Grace opened.

Feature photo by Christian Fregnan

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