I feel so blessed by the folks in my life...those I see, and those whom I'll never even meet. They stumble in, check my pulse by the words I write- I just want you to know that it means more than I can say, truly.
There is an old Bluegrass song that has always been one of my favorites
There is an old Bluegrass song that has always been one of my favorites
"I Want My Friends To Pray For Me".
I never gave it much thought the first time I heard it, the title seems a bit selfish, wanting a prayer said for you...but the song goes on to say how affirming it is to be able to hope, perhaps never truly asking- that someone might lift you up in prayer by speaking your name.
I think that just might be the beauty of blogging, perhaps it is the very thing that we all need, the net of amazing graces found here. Some vent, some wail, some seek, some find I suppose, a sympathetic ear...but I can't help but wonder if it is more than that. Perhaps it is like that old tin cup attached to a string that you ran from your garage as a kid, to your neighbors upstairs window and you spoke, "Hello!" The sound waves traveled through the string up and over and through the hedge to a listening ear that heard the voice or felt the vibe. It was exhilarating as a child to feel that- as if the wheel had just been invented by two knock-kneed kids with fruit cocktail cans held up to their ears.
"I hear you! I hear you!" And then we'd drop our cans and meet at the bushes and smile... beaming grins from ear to ear.
Hear I sit with my old rusty can, the string a bit tattered and worn, but...I hear you! I hear you!!!!
-how sweet the sound...
I think that just might be the beauty of blogging, perhaps it is the very thing that we all need, the net of amazing graces found here. Some vent, some wail, some seek, some find I suppose, a sympathetic ear...but I can't help but wonder if it is more than that. Perhaps it is like that old tin cup attached to a string that you ran from your garage as a kid, to your neighbors upstairs window and you spoke, "Hello!" The sound waves traveled through the string up and over and through the hedge to a listening ear that heard the voice or felt the vibe. It was exhilarating as a child to feel that- as if the wheel had just been invented by two knock-kneed kids with fruit cocktail cans held up to their ears.
"I hear you! I hear you!" And then we'd drop our cans and meet at the bushes and smile... beaming grins from ear to ear.
Hear I sit with my old rusty can, the string a bit tattered and worn, but...I hear you! I hear you!!!!
-how sweet the sound...
(Hoping upon hope that I get to bring Grandma home today, or- tomorrow. Home being the optimum word, she's in better spirits, accepting all and anything, took me a bit to get there. But, once again- she's taught me that some things might rob you, some things fulfill you and some things...just have to be. And some things, the best ...aren't really things at all.
She said (after all the indignity she has suffered, the pokes and guinea pig explorations),
"...you have to forget all that and just go on."
Oh grandma, I'm trying you-old-sweet-pain-in-the-rear-sometimes-always-grand-dame, I am trying.
(I may have to live as long as Grandma Mocko to get the lessons right...or wrong and "just go on", as she has advised. Darn it. She can come right out of the haziest fog, look me straight in the eye and be so damned righteous...ooohhhh, she goes right for my throat, veers a little south and pokes me in the heart.)
Mother's Day...tears and laughter, joy and pain-
this day will be the one that really brings it home...
What it means to be a mother,
to be mothered and to be... Grand.
