This was supposed to be my weekend to get things done. I was supposed to be motivated by the Writer’s Digest Platform challenge to write, by the gorgeous weather to walk, by a day off to visit my favorite coffee house. An obstinate headache dampened the motivation, and even as my fingers touch the keyboard in front of me, I’m fighting the urge to return to my bed. The bills are done, the groceries are bought, tomorrow’s class lessons are planned. So why am I here instead of nestled into my pillow? Well, while sitting on my porch mustering up the energy to shower and get this day going, I was visited by two Jehovah Witnesses who asked if I pray. I said I did. The lady’s hand slid into her bag to pull out the Bible. I said I was Catholic, that I was familiar with the Bible, and then I wished her a good day.
Not being in the right state-of-mind and with distractions bound to occur, it seemed like a bad choice of times to share my story. It would be better if I was clear-headed and sitting at the Friendly Lounge with a cup of joe. But no one had ever asked me about prayer, and if I waited, the moment would be added to the list of things I should have done today but never got to. So here goes:
When the paramedics took him from the house, Dad couldn’t breathe...
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