I lay on the floor, listening. Sometimes I do this, when I am all alone. It’s a good feeling. My long hair spreads out behind me. My cat hovers near the shades, wondering what has gotten into her playmate. I listen, in the shadowy darkness of a rain hushed day. I hear water falling on my roof. I see trees out my window. And I keep asking, will God provide for me?
It’s a silly thing to ask. I had a Starbucks coffee today, a rare treat, and went to a bookstore and browsed the shelves. I visited a grandma I feared I would lose months ago. She told me stories. Stories about the Swedish Hospital, and about the Alaska boy she met there. She told me of tapping on the wall between their rooms, and him and his roommates tapping back. She told me about the swimming pool and how the water held her up so she could walk. That was after the polio came.
So. Yes. God has provided. I look up at the popcorn ceiling. It’s empty and white. My life isn’t empty. Not anymore. So. God does work miracles. But I need Him to fill up my home. I need another miracle.
God, will you come?