Beyond Common

We walk for years in the calm common of our lives,
day to day to day
unrolling in the same way,
predictable as paper towels
or toilet paper
and then one day you tug out one more Kleenex
from a half-full box
but the next one drops its duty,
stays inside, failing to follow the chain
that is supposed to bring
one after one after one

and you wonder who it was
that had one thing to do
at The Facial Tissue Factory
and just couldn’t quite get that one thing done
in such a way as to keep you
from having to dip down through the plastic orifice
knowing that you couldn’t pinch just a single one
but would bring up a whole wad
and then have that to deal with
on top of everything else.

Or maybe it was a car wreck,
or surgery,
or cancer,
or sepsis,
or an aneurysm,
or a stroke,
or a neighbor’s trash setting fire to the whole county—
including your house—
or losing your job,
or your child,
or whatever else it was

That made you realize all at once
that your loved ones are more precious than you ever imagined,
that nothing about life is common no matter how repetitive,
that friendship is sacred,
that the faintest scar
is proof of healing
and that even a half-cup of re-heated coffee
may be God’s own comfort.

H. Arnett

About Doc Arnett

Native of southwestern Kentucky currently living in Ark City, Kansas, with my wife of twenty-nine years, Randa. We have, between us, eight children and twenty-eight grandkids. We enjoy singing, worship, remodeling and travel.
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