just came in from making three stripes of tilled soil, and I am soaking wet with sweat. Miss Millie kept coming closer and closer to me, her way of saying, "WE GOTTA GO IN BEFORE WE DIE!"
I am working on a book, but it seems all I am reading and writing has nothing to do with what I am supposed to be doing. My asthma is vying for all my attention, as well as all my oxygen flow, and to top it all off, my tomatoes are tanking. My response?
"Blessed be the Name of the Lord God Almighty."
No exclamation point, no raised fist, no battle shout.
Just a whisper, just an exhaled prayer in this hot realm of dreams seemingly dying on the vine, caught up on the whirling swirl of sacred sacrament into the heavenlies--straight from my mouth to God's ear.
Lungs maybe struggling, but it is well with my soul.
Be brave; it pays.