Day 43/366

#mylifeinpages Day 43/366

Sitting and staring at the key and the note attached accomplished a pounding headache, but nothing productive.  Genevieve went to bed early and, knowing sleep would be all but impossible, she took one of the sleep aids her doctor had prescribed for her after her father's funeral.

Her dreams were fragments of her worries and of real events.  Her dad was still trapped, but she couldn't get to him.  The dream would shift, and she was back digging through the bookshelves, desperate to find the key.  She slept, but she didn't rest.

Up with the sun painted sky, Gen took her coffee out on the terrace, curling up on the patio chair and covered with her favorite robe.  Cotton fabric that was whisper soft in a pale lavender shade, the robe had been around for decades.

It belonged to her mom, making it more precious than cashmere.  The sleeves had begun to fray, and three of the fabric covered buttons were missing, but she loved the softness of the fabric.  At times she thought she smelled her mom's perfume, but it was just a memory.

She stared into the distance, clearing her mind as she listened to the sound of her town waking up.  The neighborhood roosters had their usual cockadoodle-off, and a dog howled in the distance.  A light ground fog created a soothing ocean of white, with patches of green bursting through as the sun rose higher.

If she could just shut her brain down and reboot her memories, she was certain she could find the lock that fit that key.  Head tilted back and eyes toward the sky, she sighed--a deep soul sigh, one that dredged up the bits and baubles that clutter us up inside.

"Father God," she began, "I know You know this, but I've been ignoring You.  Even when I have prayed, it's been with my fingers in my ears.  I think I'm a little bit angry with You.  No, I'm a lot angry."

A tear traced a shimmering path down her cheek and splashed onto her hand.  "You've got my mom, and now You've got my dad.  And I have nothing," she sobbed.  "What do You have to say about that?"

Her hand cramped, and she realized she had wrapped her cup tightly, with enough pressure to snap the handle.  A deep breath in, and back out.  Again.  And again.  "I just don't know what I'm supposed to do now.  I don't feel anything, like my heart is numb.  But I'm afraid to feel, so afraid and tired of hurting.

"Are You still there, Father?  Have You left me, too?"  She paused, another tear rolling down her flushed cheek.  Gen sat so still, offering no more words; she'd said enough.  A soft breeze whispered by, lightly moving her long, blonde curls.

A touch on her cheek, as if God Himself dried her tears.  Another feather-light touch, this time on her brow, as if Someone placed a tender kiss on her face. She gasped in surprise, then the tears flowed freely.  Yes, God was with her.  And He understood her fear and her anger.

He responded to her prayer with a sense of His presence, and reminded her that she hadn't lost her parents, but instead they were now where her treasure was stored.  Stored.  Gen sat up, her now lukewarm coffee spilling into the floor.  "That's it!" she cried.  She knew exactly what the key was for.

Her dad had a storage container somewhere, and now she had to find it.  "Thank You, Father.  Thank You."

All words are the property of Deena Peterson and not to be used without permission.