Too Much Chocolate

I remember going to the movies with Terri when we were small girls. And us putting our money together to buy one of those big candy bars. The really large ones. And between us eating the whole thing. Yup. And getting home and being unable to eat any of the supper that was waiting for us. All I would want was a glass of milk. Seemed like a tolerable and bearable antidote for all of that chocolate.

So for the past two days I have been on a retreat. Any who know me will know that I took this seriously when you hear that I didn't even bring a book along to read. Only the Bible. I have been quiet and listening. And journaling. But I have also been writing on my story. Lots and Lots of Writing. I feel like my hands were a huge conduit from my mind to the keyboard. And it has been great. Really swell. I am frankly shocked at how much I enjoyed this process. But like the anecdotal commencement to this post, I am 'writed-out'. I wonder what the milk is a metaphor for. (ha! that is a great ungrammatical phrase!) Perhaps two hours of Andrew Peterson on my way back to Norfolk will do the trick.

There is an irrational wish in me today that words would only be allowed for happy and good and cheerful ideas. Because then I would not be allowed to use words like, 'goodbye', and 'death', and 'funeral'. And yet there was such a hushed and holy moment for Dad, Beth, Sue and I as we stood with John during his last moments in his body. And as awful as death is, there is a beauty and strength that can grow in us as we smile through our tears at John's now-at-peace face. Oh how I will miss him! Who else will send me the old-lady birthday cards? And tell me that fighting for life and dreams is Worth It. I cherish the memory of the talks we had this past year.

Now I am in Nebraska. So glad to be with my family and my friends. I have a blessed life! I know a God who blesses!