It's another sunny 70 degree day in Des Moines and I have Internet! I'm hanging out in the back room while the physical therapist works my grandma. My little room is filled with angels. Grandma collects them. They are the first thing I see when I wake up and the last thing I see before I go to bed. It's been a long time since I've thought of angels and church and the bible. I used to love to read the bible, especially the old testament where all the juicy, telenovela stuff goes down. David stories are my favorite. The boy who beat the Giant, the man who became a warrior and the king who disgraced himself for love.
But if there is one biblical story that I identify with the most it's the tale of the Prodigal Son. That's me. Prodigal. Wasteful. The kid who ran off an squandered her inheritance at juke joints and tapas bars (and a leather tannery), then came back broke and bashful to beg for a job at the stables. Except instead of getting table scraps he's greeted with a banquet and embraced into the fold. Today I am reminded how lucky I am...how blessed I've been to do the things I've done and to be able to come home after it all to a family that loves and supports me, even if they think I'm kind of crazy. It's a good day.
1 comment:
I protest. Prodigal and wasteful are too strong. Your endeavors are productive and will be more self-evident as time goes on. We only live once.
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