My husband left me. For three days and two nights, alone in the belly of a whale. That’s in case anyone has been wondering where I was this week.
But the sun has come up this third day, and I’m beginning to see daylight.
When he told me his plans, I asked if he realized how very dangerous it is for him to leave me here unsupervised for that long. I know where the Good Will store is, and I have a truck, and I’m not afraid to use it.
But I didn’t have much time for collecting stuff for Good Will. Instead, I went through this house and collected every scrap of paper I own.
The paper storm is finally abating, y’all. The whale has found its way to shore and is about to spit me out. I’ve filed and organized, and have almost finished filling the third dog food bag with jetsam. Big bags, three dogs, packed tight.
That ‘everyone’ in the verse above that I’m to live at peace with includes me—and I feel so much more peaceful. I’ve found things I’d forgotten about—short stories, ideas, letters, journal notes, study notes, insights. I’ve found things I’d wasted time and energy puzzling over and searching hopelessly for. I found my Jim Conway letter, the one he told me (in his book, Friendship) to write to myself from God telling me how much He loves me.
Somehow, that whale just doesn’t seem so big now.
Avi, You are the God of order, the God who makes things happen, the God who’s never at a loss because He can’t find what He needs to work with. Make me like You in this, too. Help me to reclaim my purpose. In Your holy name, Amen.