"The shining beauty of my identity and the way God made me, just me without children, was there all along underneath the everyday. It was not far off. The me apart from earaches and antibiotics, sack lunches and gatorades, skinned knees and homework was just waiting. Lost but not forgotten."
Everyone loves to come home to find an unexpected package by their door. When you see the package a quick thought runs through your head. A thought of excitement and anticipation swirls. Who is it from? What could it be? You pick it up, feel the weight, shake it and try to see the return address. Who cares enough about me to send me a package?
"There was a young gentleman in front of me in line at the grocery store today. He was probably in his twenties. Soft spoken, gentle. He was using his WIC vouchers to pay for his food. He had a number of items and for some reason, the clerk had to rescan everything. In the end, he had an extra 10.00 to spend. She suggested that he pick up some bananas because they were close enough to the register and everybody eats bananas."
I have little personal memory of that happening in my city but my entire life I have been well reminded of the horror that happened in our own backyard. It makes me so very sad when I google "Birmingham, AL”. Without fail you will find something on the bombing on the first search page that comes up.