bread pudding

There is a certain stillness that emanates from the not quite comfortable cushions of the visitor’s chair in a hospital room. It whispers of mortality and importance. It beckons deep thought while the outer crust of awareness seeks distraction. I find myself struggling to evade the level of openness necessary for baking bread. Given the complexity of the situation, my hesitation is understandable. It isn’t a matter of a mere can of worms – more in the order of an industrial sized vat.

There has been a lot of rawness this past week. Finding a balance between searching my soul and maintaining some privacy is no small feat. But bread must be made and ingredients must be measured.

Is it consolation or desolation to have a loved one hit rock bottom? That question still hangs, uncertain, in front of me. For you see, rock bottom is a catalyst for intervention, which is a motivating factor in upward motion. And that motion would be considered consolation…or should be. There is always the possibility that the loved will wish to hang out in the pit for awhile.

Could I be any more cryptic? It is doubtful. Perhaps I will find the words to be less mysterious soon. For now, I hold fast to the consolation that God hears my prayers, and He holds the fragile bits of me in his ever capable hands – much safer than being in my own.