I’m feeling my arms right now. I turned 40 last month and I’m still here. Despite the thousands of times I thought I was dying of a heart attack, suffocating or some other bizarre event like driving off the road because of intrusive thoughts, I’m still kickin’ and screamin.’
As a therapist, I’m constantly faced with which road to take when a mother tells me about her wayward child, or a wife is describing how her husband will not change, but she can’t leave because of xyz.
This last Saturday we went out to distribute supplies and build relationships like we always do. We didn’t go to Tarp Man’s bench this time. But as we drove home, I noticed he wasn’t warming the bench anymore.
Church was great today. We worshiped. Praised. Broke bread and even tipped those microscopic shot glasses of grape juice in remembrance of a man so full of love that the Heavens split upon His arrival. T
“Don’t drag it!” she shouted. “Those are turn of the century legs—you aren’t supposed to drag them,” the antique store owner declared. “Careful, you don’t wanna break them; you already have enough work on your hands as it is.”