A Beggar's Plea, Part One"Redeem this day," I pleaded, eyes shut, thumbs crossed, fingertips under my chin. It was more a beggar's plea then the widow's demand before a judge.
I had no excuse for the previous day's rush into isolation. I should have taken a leisurely walk as MBH, my beloved husband, gently urged me to do. Instead I stayed inside as the afternoon sun banished the gray clouds outside.
9 a.m. that day I smiled, ignoring the clouds as I backed out of my garage. In an hour I would spend the day with Tia, a Purdue alumna and a mom with adult kids and an adopted special teen. 25 years in the South, she cleared clay paths through the red tape of government services for her family.
She offered to chauffeur me down those paths the next day if we met at her house. But first I needed gas for my empty tank. I also needed groceries for ever-empty Buddy, six feet tall, and 187 pounds.
Thank God for a nearby Kroger's Marketplace/gasoline station. "My Maria" drove her car there, too, so she and Bud could take the groceries home. She parked. I fueled my van. I parked. We all sprinted into the store. Racing the aisles, I directed the kids to grab the essentials and go. This mama's body and spirit were giddy on a non-caffeine buzz, "Connection," the buzz flavor of choice.
Suddenly the cell phone rang a reality check. Tia's special teen told me his mom had to cancel the plans. I shut the phone and told the kids to slow down.
A week before Tia asked me, "Have you been here long enough to get the culture here, how slow things go?"
It's almost 365 days since MBH moved here to work. It's been nine months since we joined him. We've waded the southern swamp life with a lingering patience that should be redeemed for a reward. 2008 is over, we're fifty plus days into 2009. Still my kids sit with the jobless masses.
Research shows networking nets jobs, opportunities. Folks here offer help, friendship. Few seem to follow through. As for Tia...
I quickly exited the store, blinking hard so I could drive safely home.
"Cheer up, Mom." Buddy patted my back in the car. Sweet Bud, so unhurried is he about life, about that job, yet so quick to speak comfort, to rescue, to redeem the day.
My son tries to walk in the footprints of the Perfect Son, my Redeemer who lives to redeem each day, be it sunny or cloudy. But that day the clouds left the sky to crowd my mind and then rain.
I needed time to find my beggar's plea fully met . . .
To be continued.
I had no excuse for the previous day's rush into isolation. I should have taken a leisurely walk as MBH, my beloved husband, gently urged me to do. Instead I stayed inside as the afternoon sun banished the gray clouds outside.
9 a.m. that day I smiled, ignoring the clouds as I backed out of my garage. In an hour I would spend the day with Tia, a Purdue alumna and a mom with adult kids and an adopted special teen. 25 years in the South, she cleared clay paths through the red tape of government services for her family.
She offered to chauffeur me down those paths the next day if we met at her house. But first I needed gas for my empty tank. I also needed groceries for ever-empty Buddy, six feet tall, and 187 pounds.
Thank God for a nearby Kroger's Marketplace/gasoline station. "My Maria" drove her car there, too, so she and Bud could take the groceries home. She parked. I fueled my van. I parked. We all sprinted into the store. Racing the aisles, I directed the kids to grab the essentials and go. This mama's body and spirit were giddy on a non-caffeine buzz, "Connection," the buzz flavor of choice.
Suddenly the cell phone rang a reality check. Tia's special teen told me his mom had to cancel the plans. I shut the phone and told the kids to slow down.
A week before Tia asked me, "Have you been here long enough to get the culture here, how slow things go?"
It's almost 365 days since MBH moved here to work. It's been nine months since we joined him. We've waded the southern swamp life with a lingering patience that should be redeemed for a reward. 2008 is over, we're fifty plus days into 2009. Still my kids sit with the jobless masses.
Research shows networking nets jobs, opportunities. Folks here offer help, friendship. Few seem to follow through. As for Tia...
I quickly exited the store, blinking hard so I could drive safely home.
"Cheer up, Mom." Buddy patted my back in the car. Sweet Bud, so unhurried is he about life, about that job, yet so quick to speak comfort, to rescue, to redeem the day.
My son tries to walk in the footprints of the Perfect Son, my Redeemer who lives to redeem each day, be it sunny or cloudy. But that day the clouds left the sky to crowd my mind and then rain.
To be continued.
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