I read Psalm 31 on the twenty fifth of August. Read it again yesterday to Graham. Today I figured I should read Psalm 32. "You are my hiding place. You shall preserve me from trouble."
Yesterday dad lost his job. This was the day after mom and I had an awful fight. The kind of fight that gets us screaming and yelling and not acting like mothers and daughters should. I hate it when she cries.
She stormed off, just like she storms off on dad, and left me standing at the kitchen table. I asked her nicely to come back. And then she started yelling. Then I screamed that she come back. I said we were dysfunctional- her and me, and this was true. And finally, with tears in her eyes and anger in her heart, she came back to me.
She sat in the green rocker and back and forth told me how much I'd neglected her, us, over the years. How I'd never had her over for a home cooked meal or how I'd never washed the linens and made up the guest bed. "Once," she said, "you and what's his name. You had me over just once." And now she was crying.
"And I'll never forget that night until the day I die. I've told your father. I told him, 'If I die, and you put me in a casket, please tell Laura that the night she and what's his name had me for dinner was one of the best nights in all my life. Not getting married, not having babies, but just sitting at that table next to her and what's his name.'"
And at first I honestly couldn't recall this night she spoke about. This night that made her cry just thinking that its only happened once. The night I made her happy. Just once I'd made her happy.
And I went on with excuse after another. Telling her I had no extra beds and even had no stove. But there was nothing I could say and nothing I could do. I had neglected her, us, for years and just now learned it was chicken and sweet tea that mattered.
She went back and forth in that old green rocker, and I thought about all those lonely nights. All my uncooked meals and all her lonely nights. And knowing that my chicken had made her life complete, I wondered about my meatloaf or perhaps my pork and brie.
And I thought about the bed that was soon to be delivered. And thought about the sheets and cleaning all the linens. I'll ask her over for some dinner and for some rest from her hard day. I'll serve a six course meal and then I'll pray she starts to heal.