Let us run with patience the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus…
(Hebrews 12:1-2)
Now, if you have no sentimental attachment to “things” you may not understand my struggle. All I can say is, those puzzle PJs stuck with me for a decade or more. They contain memories in each thread.
The neighborhood is beginning to simmer, like a long-dormant volcano. Seismic energy erupts through the fissures of society here on Brady Street as the sun shines and the temperatures warm. Children pour out of houses onto trampolines. Neighbors emerge without coats on trash day, and we get to exchange more hellos. It’s easier to park cars along the street because you don’t have to work around the snow piles that never got removed. The rumblings of spring have begun.
I may be having an identity crisis. But as I listen to the suffering of the wide world, I realize how blessed I am. I’m not in the hospital for a self-inflicted wound. My house didn’t just burn down. My husband didn’t just leave me. I didn’t fall and break a bone and lay on the floor for 18 hours before someone found me.
“What shall I write in my blog?” I asked Marnell late last night. “Hmmm. You should write…” he stopped to think. Then of course I
Note: When I write about my work as a nurse, all identifying factors are fictional due to privacy requirements. If you think you know who
It’s 10:07 Friday evening and I’ve just returned from a grueling 14+ hour day at work, so I don’t have a lot of profound thoughts.
