Sunset on the hill

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We took a drive on Friday, just needing sunshine and space. Fresh air. Ice cream. “Let’s go see the sunset,” my husband said, and we drove to Chapel Point — a great place to feel both opened up and small.

My feelings on faith are complicated. But there’s something about a church that still resonates with me — a key clicking into a lock.

I’ve never been inside St. Ignatius, a Catholic parish founded in 1641 — one that still thrives today. I have stood along its brick paths and gazed out over its cemetery on the hill, overlooking the Port Tobacco River. I have been in its shadows.

Everything I touch each day is chrome, glass, wood. We value “new.” I do, too. But there is power in the past. Standing next to the centuries-old church reminded me of all that the parish has weathered. Coronavirus (and live-streaming of Catholic Mass! Oh, if the Jesuits could see them now) … well, that’s just another page in a long story.

We whispered to the kids about sacred ground, tiptoeing only along the edges. We watched the sun sink lower. Ollie plucked a dandelion and made his wishes.

And we walked out — mosquito-bitten, grateful — hand in hand.

Wordless Wednesday: Cherry blossom time

Want to pretend it’s two months ago? Cool!

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Cherry blossom time in Washington is the best time.

The peak bloom along the Tidal Basin was later than anticipated, and the timing worked such that my parents and I could go with my mother-in-law — her first time seeing them — and enjoy a cool, gray morning under the budding trees on April 7.

And that’s all I’ll say. “Wordless,” I know.