“A Cookie Please”
Still no rain,
but we’ve quit talking about it as much. Hardly even mention
it. Why would we? It is old news now. This whole part of the
country has seemed to resolve itself to its new dryer condition.
I always suspected that the future would leave Alabama
the “Great Dixie Desert”, our giant orange dust storms visible
from the Space Shuttle.
I feel like the vanishing south.
I didn’t have to work today, and so,
my little self sat home and watched old sit-coms on the USA
channel. Two whole hours of TV without any fights
over the seating arrangement.
No fights over blankets, pillows or temperature;
I turned the heat on 78 and had warm bones.
I drank more soft drinks than healthy and stared at the screen;
I laughed at the screen; I enjoyed the screen,
and of course, (as with anything I truly enjoy)
felt guilty. With sooooooooooooo much to do,
“Why should my life get to be soooooooooooooo good?”
The first time this question came to me, I tried to divert
attention by making excuses about how “not good” my life is.
But what can I say? Hundreds of blessings bloomed before me.
They still do. The obvious blessings: all that I have: all that is mine: mine:
and not just tangibles, but all those delicious mines that I can’t
quite put my fingers on:
All there and blooming. Blooming Blessings.
Then, what to do with the “not mine” blessings. All that I don’t
have, and don’t ever want to have.
All the traps I have managed to avoid by luck,
brilliance or divine intervention: all the pitfalls
that Jesus jerked out of my blind path and in His perfect timing.
I am trying to be careful here.
Not wanting to be like a friend of mine, who refused blessings:
every single one of them. She was uncomfortable
with comfort: uneasy in any ease:
either running away from happiness or mutilating
it until there was no good resemblance left.
In the end she even refused the simplest of gifts:
her very breath.
There was a funny line in one of those sit-coms
The mother asked the daughter if she would care for a
cookie, that a cookie might cheer her up. The daughter answered,
“No. I don’t want a cookie. A cookie would make me happy.
I don’t deserve a cookie. Got any liver?”
Got any liver?
I can’t remember ever hearing Jesus tell someone,
“No, you can’t have a cookie; you haven’t been good enough.
Have you eaten your spinach? You’ve already had a cookie.
Didn’t I give you one last week?”
Jesus gave out cookies to anyone who would take one.
Sometimes they didn’t say the magic words, please and thank you,
but He gave them cookies any way.
What kind of twisted parent gives a child a cookie
only to make them feel guilty over enjoying it?
Not any goods ones. Not my Jesus.
I think I have found a place in my life that needs a little work:
a little renovation. May be a little baking.
Maybe some chocolate chips.
Here is where I should tie my loose ends together and make sense,
but it looks like it isn’t going to happen.
With my spelling what it is or isn’t, and my brain swimming out to sea,
(you can call it Adult ADD or delusional or just plain crazy)
but I should count my blessings that I can write anything at all.
I am doing better.
I am taking my cookies and a big glass of whole (not skim) milk
and going to sit on the sofa and enjoy the peacefulness
(if only until the school bus arrives) of my quiet home.