Lost and found.  Never lost or found.  Always lost and found.  Up and down, back and forth, yes and no, two steps forward, one step back.  Are we just like bouncing balls?  Maybe a racketball slamming against the tiny court walls, or a basketball floundering out of bounds.  Some days, yes some days, it is the crack of the bat and a soaring home run drive into the stands.  Other days it’s that field-long hail mary pass that slips out of my hands and I fall hard onto the cold turf.

Unlike the balls, I have to bounce.  I can’t sit still.  Whether it is as close and tiny as the next breath or looming like a job interview after a dry year.  It could be the day to day walks with the dog, or that day of the last walk.  The next day happens.  One birthday seems to make me feel so old…and then the next year I’m even older.

The Divine for me today is that big hand of a Harlem Globetrotter–swirling and catching, ducking and diving, sneaking and faking the ball of my life around the human court with miraculous control.  Whether I make a basket or not, we are having fun.