Being Wise Nineteen

 

                

Grace with Margaret and baby Dick, 1913, China

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Being Wise Nineteen June 13, 2021

I live with boxes and clothes.

No messages have come in

so far. Boxes of books, seeds, 

piles of clothes: gifts, hand-me-downs

for winter and summer. I don’t need

many. I don’t go out much. I sorted

the gardenias Janet brought me, the

fresh white ones from those turning

yellow, dying. I miss old friends.

I still have some. I can’t go back

into the past. But it’s still there

in my mind. Thailanna and that

loving family I won’t forget, nor 

Sam, who let me know in so many 

ways, that he loved me, valued me.

All that work we did on Grace.

He wouldn’t let me stop until I’d

discovered who all these people were:

the missionaries and their children.

A lot of women wanted that book

because Grace had mental illness.

There is plenty to do here. All I

need is the will. My shoes fit now.

I have more energy. Slowly I’ll

summon my will. I’ll tackle the

boxes, the piles of clothes. I’ll

remember to be grateful for all

the loving people I’ve had in my life.

When you’ve been loved, you’re

honor-bound to give love back.

Not brood, not despair. Life’s

riches will come.