Refraction

Things I observed today.

This, in my kitchen. The glass of water on the windowsill produced the rainbow in the sink, in the late afternoon, as the sun streamed in from the western sky. 

A small moment, I guess, in the days of the big concerns and worries. But one that made me stop and wonder for just a moment. I'm sure there's some physics of light involved -- refraction through the water, the curved glass -- but the science makes it more wondrous, not less. 

My morning devotion, again from "Lent Is Not Rocket Science," by W. Nicholas Knisely, was about the special light of sunrise, special because of the way it's filtered through more of the earth's atmosphere. The question at the end was, "Will you pause today to see beyond the the first impressions and see the poetry of what is before your eyes?" and "What do you see?"

It's a good writing prompt, and since it was a warm for the season, sunny spring day, there were good things to see. Lots of people out walking their dogs throughout the day, past our church atrium, where I worked for much of the afternoon. Lots of runners out too. 

We're all keeping our distance, but I had to brave the grocery store this afternoon. I did my share of bobbing, weaving and swerving so as not to get too close to other people. My face, like many around me, was fixed, mouth closed, resolute. Get what I needed, or get what I could, and go home. After a while, though, I tried to smile across the social distance, when someone looked at me and I looked back. I smiled extra hard, or tried to smile extra warmly, to cross that scary gulf, the one that might too easily turn into fear of one another. 

I voted, too, again keeping social distance in mind and washing my hands well when I got home. I discovered that I had inadvertently cut in line when I entered the polling place -- misinterpreted what those distances meant. When I realized this and apologized, the two women now behind me smiled graciously, said it didn't matter, and we agreed, "It's all good."

I know this is not what the world was like for everyone on whatever day this of COVID-19 comes to America. Some of you struggled through another day of e-learning with children who must have been tempted by the sunshine. Some of you had your own aggravations with work (and I had some of those, too). Many folks were working at grocery store and at Walgreens, and in many places doing the things necessary to keep us all going. It can't be easy. It can't be easy to be elderly and isolated these days. It can't be easy to be a healthcare worker preparing for the onslaught. 

I observed myself often today, rattled by dreams, rattled by memories, not at all sure of how to meet the days ahead. But it was good to observe this, to name this, before springing into action. Stopping, observing, listening, watching, and occasionally muttering something about being grateful for the hard times as well as the easy ones, I found some measure of peace, some sense of living in the presence of God. And of God's presence reflected and refracted through me.