Lucy nuzzled her right cheek into my left rib cage as we sat on the couch. “I don’t want to watch ‘Sesame Street’ anymore, Pappy. Will you give me a manicure?”  Ruby slept.

Sweet. Content. Full.

I was growing in the 50’s, puzzled in the 60’s, and thriving in the 70’s. I bounced in the 80’s, got trounced in the 90s and then — Y2K approaching — I began learning the ABC’s of life.

I’ve loved and laughed and hurt and been hurt. I’ve held the smooth handle of a Rocky Colavito-autographed Louisville Slugger and the smoother torso of sons with Meredith and Michael written all over them. I’ve kissed Hailey on the forehead and Matthew in my heart.

I’ve been blessed with growing up in the best neighborhood at the best time in a harvest of best and life-long friends.

I’ve tripped, stumbled, and fallen, and yes, been yanked up by family, friends, and a God of my understanding.

I’ve found Carrie.

I’ve aged, but:

My ears are weaker, but I listen better. Reflexes have slowed but response is better. And my nose? Stacy told me a few years back she’d never realized how big it was! Still, I sense she meant it with love.

What I’m most grateful for, however, is my eyesight. Some would say I see things as “half full” rather than “half empty”. Right they are, but it’s stronger than that.

I walk today with firm resolution that no matter what, everything will be OK. That everything happens for a reason and better yet, that I don’t have to know the reason.

Old enough for Social Security, my true comfort comes from a spiritual security.

Yes,  my cup runneth over.

“…I pray that I may have a seeing eye. I pray that with the eye of faith I may see God’s purpose everywhere.”

Twenty-Four Hours A Day (November 26)

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