What I knew in Grand Rapids

I used to think that events were discrete:

the picnic, the talk in the chapel,

hiking in the Chagrin Reservation.

And then, maybe, I saw one linked to another:

they asked and I went;

she left and I am sad;

the rain falls and the peonies grow.

Then, with age or mercy,

I could see them all strewn out like chess moves,

one linked to another:

the post, the email, the quick, the yes, the longing, the love.

I could trace my life back choice by choice,

retrospectingly connected.

But now, right now, I see it all,

just maybe for today, as a bridge.

One thing taking me to the next,

moving from one side to the other.

And there are only two sides of my life:

what was and what is better.

Even the darkness, the doubt, the desert wandering.

All of it before: one form of glorious goodness.

All of it to come: a wider form of more glorious goodness.