Seems to be quite a few "drafts" on my dashboard. Not much writing, just titles, a few random thoughts. A picture or two. The boys above are not quite half of what the title might lend itself to picture. Literally. Four more; grown men sons represent my repertoire. The complete set equals seven. Two past thirty, not much. Two in their twenties, a little deeper into twenty something every day. And the three seen above. Still at home. In my nest. Under my roof. If only each moment possessed the sweet tender love, adoration, and quiet complacency causing my mother's heart to smile.
Late at night. After a shower laced with much joint medicine smelling body wash. A roll on of essential oils, more for the aching joints. I smell like the modern day version of a bottle of Absorbine Jr.
My neck and thumb joints tingle from the, whatever it is. I am not well versed. Just use what helps. Trust my experts. Still the throbbing continues, slightly muted. What will I do if my hands quit working? How will I peck out my thoughts, dreams, and disappointments. My faith that a Loving God keeps my hands in His. It is a real faith. But not all the answers to our prayers our yes. Sometimes, "No." Is the better answer, even if we do not know or understand the why.
Standing up to pour a little more wine, because it seems like a good idea; my legs and back remind me of the manure I shoveled, and the vacuum I pushed around. Twice. The stiffening lessens as I go in search of the wining cat.
My bed and heating pad are calling my name.
Life is hard. God is Good.
Life is hard. God is Good.
Every day. All the time.
Life is hard. God is good.
Amen.
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