James D. Hogan

In this brilliant moment

On December 11, 2012

Go back to the beginning. Start over.

I am thinking of the beautiful seconds in life, the kind where a passing glance is an open window, is a brief respite, a new beginning, a slow warming inside.

I think of an Indiana sunset, of being struck by the empty expanse of earth around me, the perfect altitude of clouds, the urge to pull over, stop the car on the side of the interstate, and gaze for a few moments.

This morning on the way to daycare, my daughter, in the backseat, looking out of the window at the world passing, watching like I’ve never seen her watch before, paying attention in new ways. She turns, catches me watching her, and smiles. I reach back and pat her knee, and she reaches out and pats my hand in turn.

I needed to get away from my email this morning, so I walked downtown for coffee. I see the fellow who runs the local inn, who pedals his guests in a pedicab in the mornings. They have stopped to admire the old buildings on campus.

Prayer II (for Nana)

By James D. Hogan

On September 2, 2012

In diary

FAITH

Gracious Lord, I open my heart to you. My body and spirit are but a fleeting, dim flame compared to the light that is yours. But just as two fires together burn brighter, my soul shines immeasurably larger when you are near to me. Forgive me for all of the times I turn away and leave your work undone.

Today, especially, I ask your presence with my grandmother, Nana. Be with her today. Lord, I cannot pray for you to heal her completely, because life on earth is temporary and eternity with you too sweet. I cannot pray for her to rush away too fast, because I love her too much to let her go just yet.

I know, though, that every moment she lingers here with us, Lord, is a difficult moment for her, so I pray for absolution. Lift from her the obligations that might burden her mind. With every bit of pain or confusion she might feel, bring her peace and comfort. When she feels worried or alone, bring her courage and fulfillment.

Above all, I pray she feels confident in the completion of her life, that she knows her days were lessons for us, that she understands we will carry our steps reflecting the love she lived every day, the love and light that starts with you.

Into the Heart of the Matter

By James D. Hogan

On August 12, 2012

In writing

LIFE WITH KIDDOS

Beginning, and ending.

I walked outside this morning and felt it immediately–the cool calm that let me know that there, lurking on the outer fringes of August, was the end of summer, its dry air and cool mornings lying in wait, sure to rush in soon to fill the void of something not quite laziness, something that best describes what the people here do when the atmosphere is thick and wet, when breathing or walking require commitment, when activity is measured by this fact, and in general we tend to do less. Summer is ending.

I had a sense it was about to happen. This weekend we hosted a handful of friends here in town for supper, coolers full of beer and food mounded in foil pans. By the end, when it was too late to play cornhole anymore and the group was small enough to sit around the table on the deck, we talked into the night, each of us present in the moment that is friendship. Somewhere the Avett Brothers drifted down from a pair of outdoor speakers, and it occurred to me that I’ve heard a million Avett Brothers songs, but I don’t think I’ve heard any of them twice, and nearly all of them have been performed live. I wondered how they remembered all the lyrics. We talked of the rain that was supposed to show up and ruin our cookout and of how lucky we’d been.

And then yesterday, Saturday, we didn’t do much but we did everything together, Kelly and Julia and me. We played together in the floor, Kelly sitting at the desk looking over something on the computer, me cross-legged in the floor, Julia wandering back and forth from the den and back into the office, a toy in her growing hands, her bare feet tracing some invisible circuit out to the couch and around.