It is so much easier for me to "see" if I tell a story. This blog is one of the places that happens.

Asleep in Class

Sara fell asleep in class. Everyone could see into her little square as she wiggled her way into the perfect reclining position. She rested her head on her pillow, one of the perks of online learning, and watched me drone on about “diction” and “rhetorical strategies”. Then, in the middle of a discussion about why “abandon” is a stronger word than “leave”, it was clear Sara had abandoned all of us. She was gone, off in a better place where screens aren’t screaming for our attention and life is normal again. “Saaaraaaaa,” I whispered into the screen, trying to be gentle. “Sara, are you still with us?” If anyone hadn’t noticed yet, they could see now, Sara was definitely NOT with us. Thi

Seeing the Other Side

Marilyn held Dan’s hand. Her best friend for nearly 60 years was saying goodbye. His breathing was weak. There were no more tubes or beeping monitors, but as the morning sun broke through the hospice curtains, every now and then, he worked up the energy to crack a joke. He smiled, looking for smiles from the people circled around his bed. It was hard. Like the last moments before stepping onto the train, Dan knew his time was short, so in between jokes, he sang with them. It was worship really, songs they sang with tears to the One reaching out to take him home. Then Dan looked toward the ceiling, his voice filled with joy. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” he said, a smile lighting

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© 2020 by That They May See Erin Ahnfeldt

Colorado Springs