So, my one and only man child is home for a visit. I bustle in the kitchen asking a question here and there of his exploits. Somewhat exploitive they are. At 21, it is all about him. I give thanks that this is not what I live with every day. I take hope that he was honest enough to say that 'partying' was going to be his activity this weekend. A good sign that he can be at least that honest, he would have told a story six months ago.
The next morning I look for my box of matches to light my meditation candle. Not to be found next to it. Not to be found on the counter or the floor under it. Hmm. Boy smokes. Boy took?
Musing this morning that there is no promised Christmas present, slicer dicer in sight in evidence yet. Nothing mentioned, no substitute proffered. Wondering if the check I sent him is going to help buy a better car or is already up in smoke.
Though I cannot make any headway in talking about substances stealing ambition or how Jesus asks that we love each other in thought and deed, I have a plan. It is a plan more for me than for him. It is to say what I mean and not say it mean.
I need to say that we humans need each other, self seeking avails us nothing. Being dishonest will only get you so far.
This morning I looked for toothpicks. ?where are they? Boy took? Nah, couldn't be, sigh.
The Gift of Desperation...
2 hours ago