Today my desktop shows a younger, fitter me---arms poised
over my upturned head. Even with my back to the camera, you can see my head
tilted up, way up. Several inches span the distance between the top of my
outstretched arms and the tip of her extended toes. There above me hangs Ivy,
suspended in time and mid-flight by the magic of digital photography. She gazes
down at me, her smile frozen and blurred in her rapid descent. If you suspend
disbelief long enough, it almost looks as if she falling from heaven. In which
case, it’s a good thing someone is there to catch her. Every time I see these
pictures (there is more than one, and this is not the most spectacular), even living
it as I have, I can’t help wondering if this time somehow she’ll slip through
my hands. That in turn reminds me how a trusting Father has dropped her to me.
Have I caught her as He hoped? Will I catch her?
