Here she stands, my mother for 22 years. As I look at her, I sense that someone has wound the clock.Years have become increments. History has a beginning and an end. Then mothers arms wrap me in warmth, and I am home. A 22 yea-old child reassured by her mother’s touch. There is no time in touch. I am pulled into timelessness. Our laughter drowns out the clock. There is no time in laughter.

For a moment I forget ticking clocks. I am held together by things that do not change–a mothers early morning welcome, freshly cooked meals, laughter, and love. I am held together by a God who does not change. I know the God of time who is yet above time. A rare glimpse of the divine.