We sit together on this old porch, in silent camaraderie, day after day.
They're small, but mighty in spirit.
I remember my grandmother telling me, long ago: "It's all love, child. It's all love."
Come to think of it, she told me that sitting in a glider swing shucking string beans, on her front porch.
So, here I am, Lord.
Out here on the porch.
I'm on the swing near the old rhododendrons and the robin out back, urging her hatchlings to fly.
When I was a child, I went to church Sunday morning, Sunday night, Wednesday night, and Saturday night.
That is, my mom and I went to church; my dad never went.
My two brothers were done with church before they left high school.
I've realized, all these years later, that I used to believe: If something isn't working, I must be doing it wrong. It never occurred to me that I was trying to earn the right to exist; I just thought I needed to
Now, I'm trying to try less. Don't strive to change the world; maybe change the toilet paper. (For you, Kathy).