Janet Benlien Reeves

As I enter the Autumn of my life—Autumn, not Winter, Autumn—I’m beginning to realize that a lot of the things I once had the potential for, I no longer have the potential for. For instance, a professor of mine once told me I could be our denomination’s first female professor in one of our denomination’s universities’ religion departments. (This was the same professor who gave a whole lecture with my shoe in his pocket when one of my classmates stole it off my foot before class and slipped it to him by sleight of hand. Being one of only two female religion majors had its perils.) That nonsense aside, my professor’s compliment still means something to me, but teaching wasn’t my calling. The potential was there. Now that potential has passed. Our denomination now has several female religion department professors teaching in its universities. This example shows how our lives are built on choices: some that we make for ourselves, some that others make for us, and some that are determine...

 What, Therefore, I Hope I'm Leaving So few so far of mine have left the world I know for heaven. Three grandparents plus one great. Two babies who gave up heart-beating before they had the chance to breathe. It’s only a matter of time before death begins its grim, but hopeful transfer of yet another older-than-me generation. I will see them again. Or maybe they’ll see me. Who can say? Our times are in God’s hands. But those who’ve gone already left treasures: Grandpa, for instance, always had a story to tell, embellished with humor, his take on events. According to Grandpa, for example, the Japanese surrendered in World War II because they heard the draft had finally captured my grandfather, who was on a ship, on his way. No coincidence of timing in Grandpa’s account of history: the war ended when he showed up. To me, he left his appreciation for poetry, imagination, a well-told story, and the deepest truth. His wife, on the other hand, always had a list of sights t...

Daddy taught me: When you work the puzzle without the box, Your reward is greater Wonder, surprise — Satisfaction! Build the frame first. It’s your map. Then connect colors and shapes. Use your fingers, your eyes. Seek the subtle nuance That makes one piece right for another, No other. Persist — Piece by piece, One delight of discovery at a time Until the great reveal: Picture complete. Then pause, stare. Run your hands over your smooth work Done. Life doesn’t come with a box. * * * Photo by  Ryoji Iwata  on  Unsplash