It's great the RevGals want to send me to Paris.
I can't go because my life is here. Everyone gets the itch to run away from the disaster zone but few of us up and go. I'm not going anywhere but will pray and muddle through.
I wonder what it is like for people who grab a credit card and a passport and leave when the world presses in? Do they call home when they arrive at the Hotel D'ieu on the Rive Gauche to let the home folks know they are ok?
As a child, I could run away by hiding under the dining room table, going to my playhouse in the backyard or just not answering if someone called for me. Maybe I could get on my bike to speed down the fast turn at the far corner sailing around the block. Best yet, I found a book and jumped into the pages to escape far, far away.
Most of the time, I like being an adult. I'd rather be an adult than a child because I don't want anyone telling me to turn off the light, stop reading and go to bed. I like being married, having a schedule of my choosing and being part of the larger community.
You don't run away when you are an adult.
You answer the phone. You straighten the house. You deal with whatever comes your way with as much grace and faith as you can muster.
If I get under the dining room table, I better have a vacuum in my hand to explain why I am there. If I go to the greenhouse, which before-the-storm had a "playhouse" feel, I have to watch out for the 'possums and other wild life who live there now in the ruin. My bike was stolen, so no riding down the hill of Sharon Road. As for losing myself reading, I do that still.
I will muddle through and things will get better and I'll be fine, by God's grace.
I've been through stuff before so I have experience. I'll lean on God's good care vigorously and see what happens.
Looking at Monday,