Early Patterns Of Grace

The first television show I remember is “Stoney Burke,” starring Jack Lord.

The first drawing I ever made was of Jesus on the cross. The cross had flames shooting out of the bottom of it and it powered Christ through the spacious universe like a rood-rocket. The Lord’s hands looked like little broccoli florets, and you could clearly see the nails in His palms.

The first dog I ever knew was our German shepherd, King, who died of cancer before he was even two years old. I was seven at the time, and I held his head as he panted before the end. He seemed to me to be the size of a horse. Later that evening, after King breathed his last, I tried to spend the night in his doghouse, as empty as a defiled cathedral. Even at that green age, I was trying to do penance for something.  But my mother wouldn’t let me.

The first time I recall feeling real awe was when a meteor streaked over our house one summer night. I stood beside our dying apple tree and watched the line of silver fire flash right over my head, as if drawing my attention to something, as if unzipping the black and spangled cloth suspended above me.

Lord, cross, king, star. The good shepherd. Jesus Christ the apple tree. The Lord in His heaven, condescending to ride this dusty rodeo and slinging a saddle over his shoulder as He squinted back at me.

My life has been a pageant all along, and what a thing to think with February rushing up behind me.

~ S.K. Orr