Sometimes, for no apparent reason, I just miss my son. It will be hard to breathe and my heart literally aches with the heaviness of wanting to wrap my arms around him. Most days, I am used to this new normalcy. Yet, sometimes I gasp tears of sorrow, desperate to hug my son.
Perception is like painting a scenery—no matter how beautifully you paint, it will still be a painting of the scenery, not the scenery itself.
After the school bus pulled away this morning, I stood chatting with several of our neighbors. One of the neighbors owns a landscaping company. Another neighbor works for a large company that analyzes information. Even though the people working for these companies come from vastly different backgrounds, it was interesting to note that both of my neighbors are struggling with the exact same problem:
I love going to the beach. One of my earliest memories is of my father holding both of my hands as I toddled into the waves for the first time. Even now, the salty taste of the ocean reminds me of this memory when fear mixed with excitement as I experienced the power of the ocean for the first time while my father held me safely in his hands.
Twenty plus years ago, when I was a teenager, several different church teachers taught that playing the game Dungeons and Dragons was wrong. It was a sure path to apostasy and outer darkness. So, despite the attraction—magic and elves have always held an allure for me, thanks to Tolkien’s “Lord of the Rings”—I resisted and have never played the game.
We are swamped, overwhelmed, and stretched to our utmost capacity. Many of us simply do not have anything in the tank to give to others.