Evening Prayers

Sitting here in the dark with the living room slider open and the warmth of the stored heat from the day, one of the cats purring on a pillow, dishes from Easter dinner sitting on the counter, I am still undecided. I have,literally, six different topics and drafts I could finish for this issue.

I was going to submit part II of random thoughts about chocolate but it seems a little pithy for what has actually happened this week.

Stream of consciousness perhaps. Caity, as always, came into the house today and immediately started singing. I had been just unpacking CD’s and her old recitals from high school and her senior recital from college and an audition set. She sings along. We critique.

Both my daughters are fabulous singers. If there was ever anything I did I was really proud of, it was teaching my girls to sing a song from the inside out. Both my girls compose. You mean all those nights I was up late writing ‘Mercy Road: A vaudeville version of the good Samaritan’ for Isaac and Chris’ sixth grade Sunday School class, the hours their dad spent and I spent together in the garage or basement studio, working together rehearsing for gigs, the several choirs they suffered under their mother’s conducting and their father’s accompanying and arranging, the assemblies they soloed in, the duets and concerts and recitals we all sang in...they actually liked it:). !!! Yes siree... Music was the family business and it is pure joy to watch them live out their own passion. I did not see that coming...

Then again, I wanted to talk about the box. It had a foot thick collection of correspondence that took my breath away. Have you ever been through a really bad experience and then discovered , as you were moving on, that it actually was much worse than you thought. In that moment you will say to yourself ,”There is a God”. Keep moving forward!
I wanted to share with you my other writing projects. But they are mid creation so...not so much. Describing them can’t be done briefly. And it’s kinda like interrupting a thought.

Acceptance, the last stage of grief was another topic I rolled around in my brain. I’m not really there yet. Unlike the maxim, I don’t want to teach what I don’t know.

The $5 clock I bought at St John Vianney’s rummage sale a dozen years ago has just rung bedtime. It’s been a long time since “He is Risen” o’clock. My body is desiring of a reclining angle and I have to finish my chores first.

So instead of waxing philosophical about authenticity and the power of love and the strength of nurture to promote the workshop listed below, or encouraging the faint of heart or wishing hearty atta boy or girl to those who have just lived in victory, I will instead wish you peace. Inner, circumstantial, relational, domestic, international, daily, periodic or occasional peace. With that and more so, contentment of the life giving sort that gives you the confidence to do your best even better tomorrow, to love who you are and enjoy your friends and... Experience peace. Good night all.

Love, Deborah