Tis the Season...of Life

Dear Family,

My life is in transition right now as Dad and I become empty-nesters, though I won't really admit it yet--I still have a stewardship over my younger sons. We were invited to the Empty-nester FHE on Monday, but luckily Michael got some Jazz tickets and saved us. I find myself muddled and overwhelmed sometimes by the choices ahead of me at this point. I will get it worked out, but I appreciate patience if I seem to be immobilized sometimes.

As you are aware, the question of Grandma Boyer's care is an immediate concern. My brothers and sisters are discussing the options and trying to come to a decision we feel good about. Your prayers are certainly welcome. I just wanted to share a poem I wrote this morning and express gratitude for your loving support.

~Mom

p.s. The format did not copy as written, but oh, well.

Not Alone

After finishing Pilates,

I cut up a banana, properly segmented in thirds, into a bowl

To go with the orange, waiting to be partitioned…and glance out the window.

A slight movement reveals a covey of quail

Quietly gathered beneath the burning bushes (branches bare)

Along the edge of the timbered wall.

“Oh! A gift!” I muse as I try to count the camouflaged, full-feathered bodies.

I like how they stay together, spaced in clusters, a few always on the lookout.

The bleak morning bodes honestly the burden I feel.

The appearance of age and wisdom belie the childlike fear

Of making the wrong choice.

Really, it’s not as though parental rebukes came often,

But occasionally brought buried shame.

Always compelled to please and protect…

How do I now act as agent for my mother?

Whose God-given capacity to choose is compromised…

The age of accountability rolled backwards.

I count the quail again.

Comforted, I duly note the sum equals my family

And acknowledge the gift.