I’m not sure where I’m heading.
The morning has barely breathed its warmth on the grass. Winter still blankets the hillside, with tree limbs stretching out and bare, like the arms of a child sleeping, tousled out of her grandma’s quilt.
I just know I need to keep walking.
Otherwise, I’d just stay in my bed.
I’d pull up the covers and close my eyes, even though I can’t fall asleep.
And then, when the hands on the clock tick tock towards noon, I’d get up to make myself some lunch.
I’d ready my heart and gather my strength.
To pick up the kids from school.
I’d ask how their day went, as I walk with them, arm wrapped around their shoulders. I’d hear about Ronny and blacktop soccer, how TJ and his friends played Star Wars at second recess. I’d make a big fuss over the cottonball snowman with crazy eyes that sweet CJ squished together with Elmer’s glue that left his little fingers sticky from preschool that day.
I’m present with my children, as I pull out the fridge door, count two mozzarella cheese sticks, slice some apples and place some Wheat Thins on plates for a snack.
But, as they munch and the afternoon sun starts to cast it’s rays through the window, touching my shoulder, stretching long and warm into the room, onto the wooden floors, I remember.
I remember how I spent my morning.
And how for this one day, I tried to live in the here and now. With Jesus.
I whispered tears as I lay on the pillow…
To be continued…
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