Nothing has changed. There are still daily trips to the nursing home to see my mother, and every evening when he comes home from work Himself and I drive eight miles to make dinner for his mother who is also suffering from dementia, and whom his dad insisted on bringing home. Flanagan remains dead. I remain unemployed. The boys' rooms are still empty while they cram their heads and souls with high-priced knowledge. The air-conditioners are still in the windows as Hurricane Sandy approaches. I haven't been to Weight Watchers in three weeks. Christmas is less than two months away. Why, then, did I wake this morning with such a peaceful heart? The weight which was crushing my spirit just a few days ago has been lightened and I can only think of one explanation. Somebody out there is praying for me.
In polite society we're not supposed to talk about religion, politics, or sex. Well everyone seems to be blithely violating the second tabu with a vengeance, so I'm not uncomfortable with shattering the first. For those of you who don't believe in the power of prayer, I'm sorry. It happens to be real, however, so for today you will have to cope. Or skip this blog. I can tell when someone is praying for me. And if you get quiet enough, a difficult thing to do in a world like this, you will feel it when someone prays for you. So whether Romney or Obama wins, we'll be fine. And something about Dear Flanagan's passing has moved me from "believing" that our spirits don't die to absolutely "knowing" it, although I couldn't tell you why.
I don't believe in fairy tale endings. Life is probably holding another nasty ace or two up its sleeve, maybe as soon as today, so whoever you are (and I suspect there is more than one) please keep those prayers coming. They make a difference. I feel them. And I need them. We all need them. I'm sending mine up for you as you read this. Thank you.
In polite society we're not supposed to talk about religion, politics, or sex. Well everyone seems to be blithely violating the second tabu with a vengeance, so I'm not uncomfortable with shattering the first. For those of you who don't believe in the power of prayer, I'm sorry. It happens to be real, however, so for today you will have to cope. Or skip this blog. I can tell when someone is praying for me. And if you get quiet enough, a difficult thing to do in a world like this, you will feel it when someone prays for you. So whether Romney or Obama wins, we'll be fine. And something about Dear Flanagan's passing has moved me from "believing" that our spirits don't die to absolutely "knowing" it, although I couldn't tell you why.
I don't believe in fairy tale endings. Life is probably holding another nasty ace or two up its sleeve, maybe as soon as today, so whoever you are (and I suspect there is more than one) please keep those prayers coming. They make a difference. I feel them. And I need them. We all need them. I'm sending mine up for you as you read this. Thank you.
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