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.
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