I haven't blogged lately.
I am not quite completely sure why but I have a few ideas.
It could be that I was working at the mission home for my mother while she sailed turquoise blue water and lived the life of a queen while I worked 2 forty hour work weeks outside my home (haven't done that in quite awhile)
It might have been because the traffic on the site dropped down to about 5 or 6 people and frankly whoever the 5 or 6 of you are....I love you, but I began to take a step back and evaluate why I was writing a blog and what did I want. Why would numbers matter. What am I doing this for any way? I am still pondering that and that very topic will be my next blog entry. Maybe the 5 or 6 of you and I can put our heads together and it will become clearer to me.
I really think that the reason I haven't blogged is....I miss my son.
Not in a crying out loud, rending my clothes kind of way but in a silent melancholy stupor of thought....a beating of my heart that seems irregular, quick then slow. He is battling parasites this week in Guatemala and I am not there. I can not take him to the doctor. I can not buy him a Sonic Route 44 Slush to wash down the medication. I can not watch him as he lays on the couch and sleeps off this illness. I can not scratch his head or give him a hug. I can not even pick up the phone to get a status report.
I just try to block out the kind of emotions that come with typing that last paragraph....the tears that are rolling down my cheeks right now. That's why I haven't blogged. Everything else seems a little trivial to write about and yet this seems too much to think about. I don't want to come off as overly dramatic. He would hate that. His emails are filled with positive comments and commands to "not worry" and "I am doing great". He is doing a man's work....the Lord's work and I could not have more respect for him if he were the President of the United States, but I miss my boy.
I have a recurring dream maybe once or twice a month. He is suddenly there in my mundane dream about mundane things and I realize he has been standing there...my boy.... quiet, tall, his skin brownish red from the Guatemalan sun, his white shirt a little dingy and wrinkled from being hand washed and his shoes dusty and worn from the miles he hikes every day. He doesn't say anything and I just hug him. Somehow without words he tells me that he is happy and is doing fine and that I shouldn't worry. I just can't believe that he is grown....he is an amazing man.
I wake up with a smile.
and then my heart beat begins its funny rhythm
quick and then slow
(The picture is a parasite on a crab. I haven't had the heart to read anything about parasites or even look at pictures of one. I am trying to keep a lid on this. So if you have any "good" stories about parasites, let me know. If you have any horrible stories about a friend or your brother or your uncle or your aunts cousins third husband who had parasites and suffered in agony please tell them to those who enjoy a rousing medical drama story. I am not accepting stories like that at this time but I am sure that the 5 or 6 of you already had that figured out. Thanks for stopping by and thanks for listening)