When vanilla ice cream is just a vehicle for the hot fudge sauce…

That pretty much describes where I am. Sucking down lots of chocolate. Thankfully, I’m not a chocoholic on a normal day. Just on certain days and not even every month. This month…definitely chocohellic.

I actually wanted to share some glimpses from my journal with you. But I left my journal in the kitchen when I went for the little bit of vanilla ice cream with my hot fudge sauce. It’s a dilemma…this wanting to share from my journal but not wanting to take the time away from my hot fudge sauce ice cream. Which would then turn into chocolate milk. So I think I’ll kill a few minutes by talking about something else.

This week, I’ve become even more convinced that God prepares mom’s of first born children going away to college for the first time by turning said first born child into surly, unrecognizable strangers that you can’t wait to drop off at college. If that is indeed His plan…it’s working. That explains why I’ve stopped crying every time I think about taking him to Longwood.

As I sit here, digging into my hot fudge sauce, I can’t help but think that…there’s alota hot fudge in the bottom of my bowl and I think I’m done with it. On to the journal.

This particular journal begins on April 13. A Sunday. 8:30ish is what I wrote…my first morning on the back porch in a long, long time.

I had gone to see my dear friend, Cecilia, not long after the death of her son, Nick. The fullness of her loss, her vacant eyes, her inability to weep…haunted me.

Haunts me still.

My oldest child, Nick’s friend, has since turned 18 and graduated from high school. He found out the dorm hall he is in (his first choice!), the room he is in and his roommate. He is here to annoy me by telling me to, “hold on” when I asked him to do something. He is still here following a talking to by his father regarding the way he is talking to his mother. He is still here to give me a hug and even a kiss. Completely unsolicited. It seems like so long ago that I learned that Nick had died. Much longer than the three months it has actually been. I wonder if it seems like an eternity to Cecilia or the blink of an eye. Nick’s 18th birthday just passed. I couldn’t bear to go by and see his parents. And I feel horribly guilty. I sent a card. The coward’s way. I hope that God continues to nudge me about it and that He gives me the strength to physically go see them. I pray that He will. I can’t do it without Him.

On this same day, I wrote about how my sweet friend, Joanne, wrote me about all of this and about what God said to her about it (isn’t He incredible?). He pointed her to Psalm 80:18-19.

18 Then we will not turn away from you;
revive us, and we will call on your name.
19 Restore us, O LORD God Almighty;

make your face shine upon us,
that we may be saved.

She talked of the restoring and reviving breath of God. On Cecilia. And that has been my prayer for her. Continues to be my prayer for her.

And to close out that day, I journaled, once again, about Self. Me. I. It always seems to come to that. I’m so weary of it. I need restoration. His reviving breath.

Care….dare…to share what you’re journaling about?

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