Say Grace in The Moment

 The aroma of rosemary and turkey roasting filled the house. They celebrated Thanksgiving on the weekend to accommodate in-laws, outlaws and parenting schedules. Great Grandmother's quilts covered the tables. Over the chatter of voices, Kitty continued to listen for his car. Cocktail hour passed, and the hors d'oeuvres  disappeared. The ache in her knee wasn't barometric pressure, it was the answer to her prayer about facing reality. He wasn't going to walk through that door.

 

"Lets hold hands when we say grace." Kitty's eldest Marie put out her small hand.

 

"Thank you Lord for all our blessings..."

 

Kitty's blonde hair was scrambled into a knotted bun. She did this to keep it out of the way. After dinner was finished she loosened the rubber band over the sink. A single bubble from the Dawn dish soap floated into her tresses. She could see it in her reflection of the window over the sink.

 

Iridescent like the beginnings of a tear drop, the bubble remained and did not pop. Kitty made one more wish prayer that he might just show for desert.

 

When the apple and rhubarb pies were passed Kitty felt as if barbed wire encircled her rib cage. Then something opened her heart. A drift wood log jam down stream broke apart the worry and loss. Here at the table sat those who she adored, and those who loved her back.

 

"Thank you all for coming. Amen."

 

Brandon Belt It is Good Friday

Brandon Belt there is no crying in baseball, even on your birthday.

Take your losses with grace. Step away from the camera. It is Good Friday. Think in perspective.

As children, we are taught to brush it off, walk away and ignore the bully. My parents drilled in us to turn the other cheek.

 "Be Christlike."

My usual response to hurt is to cry in private and march on. I recently suffered a betrayal. Someone I deeply love lied and caused harm to me and my children. I forgave. I stupidly furthered my own injury by “being friends.” Then cruelty repeated. Shame on me.

I am no Rookie of the Year, who is batting .192/.300/.269 with a homer, a double and 13 strikeouts in 60 plate appearances. I have everything to be thankful for and much to be forward looking, but I am not twenty-three years old. At this point in my life, I advise Brandon: living in Fresno is the equal to smelling the armpit of the world right now but grin and bear it. Act grateful for the opportunity to serve. This too will pass.

I am back to work. I issued my marching orders to finish my novel first draft, with grace.