Saturday, April 21

Hope Gives us Wings

"It's just another Saturday," I sighed as I swung my feet over the edge of the bed. Outside, clouds loomed, signaling yet another winter storm. The day would be complicated -- my daughter's friend had moved in with us plus the boy next door had just arrived to stay for seven days while his parents were on a cruise. The extra bodies in the house meant more mouths to feed and more complexities in scheduling what everyone needed or wanted to do.

Walking around the edge of the bed it struck me. I was alive and walking. What a blessing! My mind flashed back to Saturday, December 15, 2007 -- truly not just another Saturday. It was the last Saturday my friend, Stacy, had on this earth. After a four-year battle with leukemia, she died two days later. I'd lost count of all the Saturdays that followed. Like a careless child, I'd let many of them slip through my fingers. How fresh the thoughts of life's blessings had been in the weeks which followed her death. Yet, as the days and weeks turned into months, I'd somehow forgotten that even cloudy Saturday's are bright, priceless treasures.

Piles of laundry, crumbs on the kitchen floor that awaited my broom, the dishes everyone somehow forgot to wash and put away the night before -- everything on my ever burgeoning list of "Saturday chores" seemed lighter. Indeed laundry, crumbs and dishes were signs that we were all alive and well. Signs that living was underway.

The promise of a new day gave me renewed hope.

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