A Prayer of Sorts
Dear Mother Father Source Provider (Howard?) (that last one is from Anne Lamott. Google it if you want to see the whole story),
I wish I was more like my dog.
Who sleeps peacefully on the red couch most of the day. Unless he is hungry. Or it’s time for his evening treat. Or he needs to go out. Or a strange truck has parked in the driveway and a dangerous delivery person is approaching the door. Except for then.
Those interruptions don’t happen that often, though. Mostly, he rests where he can see me. He wakes occasionally, lifts his head, looks for me with his brown eyes, makes sure I am where he left me, which is most likely at the kitchen table, sitting with my computer. Yes, he seems to say. All is still right with the world. Then he goes back to sleep.
In a way, I am Biscuit’s provider; he trusts me. He knows that I will care for him.
I wish I trusted You, my heavenly Mother Father Source Provider (Howard), even a fraction as much as Biscuit trusts me. How much stress and worry I would avoid. How much angst. There is no reason that I could not spend my days (metaphorically, of course) resting on the red couch, content and secure because all is right with the world. Continue Reading…
