I think of doing wash by the edge of the porch.
Laughter shared as we made fun of my strength
and water running over feet to wash them after we were done.
Of shared tea bag between three of us.
Warm milk and sugar, chill of night, and shared words.
We talk in the outdoor kitchen as we cook,
Prepare for the next meal, light the big fire
the pot for our showers.
All this work takes time, takes a sharing of duties
takes laughter as I almost burn the kitchen down
Because I have not learned how to start the charcoal fire.
Sometimes we shelter in the indoor kitchen,
Baking rolls as the rain pours off the roof,
filling our buckets with the water we will use
To wash up the next day.
Dark and hungry waiting for the food to cook.
A sharing of souls went on in the kitchen, who was
hungry, who was hurt, laughter, tea, and mendezza
Stories around the fire, warming in the gentle cool of the evening.
All encounters treasured to be gone over
in the heart. Stories of the risen Christ ever present.
The gospel lived in the simplicity of life.
Do we encumber it with too much?