A widow finds renewed hope in a dream.
Posted in , Dec 27, 2010
The clock on the mantel ticked. I sat on the couch with nothing to do.
Only months ago my days were full caring for my dear husband—making sure he took his medications, fixing him smoothies. But Henning was gone now and he took my purpose in life with him.
The winter night came early and I crawled into bed. There was nothing for me to stay up for. Tomorrow would be the same.
“Oh, God,” I prayed, “please, give me a reason to get up in the morning.”
I awoke thinking about cats. Specifically, siblings called Smiley, Happy and Sunny. Had they come from a dream? I didn’t know, but I lay in bed imagining them getting into all kinds of trouble.
I kicked off the covers and ran to get paper and a pencil. I just had to sketch them! As I drew I got more ideas about their adventures. I wrote stories beneath the pictures.
Same thing the next morning. I could hardly wait to get to my markers and start drawing: Smiley hiding in a rain boot. Happy swinging from the curtain. Before long, it was time for lunch.
I thought of all the errands I had to do that afternoon: the bank, the dry cleaners, a trip to the library. I felt busy—and alive. And my great grandchildren were coming for a visit.
The high point of their trip came one night at bedtime when the children requested a story. “Once upon a time,” I began, “there were three little kittens….”
The stories kept coming all through the winter, then disappeared with the first signs of spring. By then I had a new reason to get up in the morning: our God answers prayer.
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