August 11 – “I stew you”

"Everything," the anguished young prince whispered, "is covered by that hungry, pitiless residual enemy that remained after The Flood to begin a destructive path of its own.  It's the dreaded Muggy Offensive Lingering Disgustingness."  Yes, virtually everything the queen owned was covered or at least touched by The Dread.  The simplest of clothing and the most regal of tables and dining chairs and fluffy pillows and irreplaceable pictures and precious little knick-knacks from royal travels and the beds handed down from queens of generations past and … "everything, dear Mother," finished the prince.  "Oh, and one other thing," he added apologetically.  "I have no place to store the items you deem worthy, so your choices must regrettably be few, and the size fairly small, for they must fit into my transport vehicle.  It is all I have."   Devastated by the shocking news, the queen could have responded in anger and lashed out at her dear son.  She could have responded in despondency and fallen into the depths and darkness of depression.  And she could have been shocked into simply doing and saying nothing.  But no.  Not this queen.  Indeed she felt the rage against the creeping Disgustingness.  Indeed she was deeply saddened at the loss of every practical tool for running a household efficiently, not to mention the collections of curios representing years of fondest memories.  But this queen – our Queen – took a deep breath, closed her weary blue eyes, and began to picture the castle and grounds as she remembered it.  And she slowly came to a heart wrenching conclusion.  "The paintings," she answered.  "Do what you can to rescue the paintings done by your grandfather, for they were high on the wall and will certainly fit in your space."  Simple.  Direct.  Focused.  In the face of turmoil and destruction.    Now don't misunderstand me.  Tears did come.  And often.  In fact I remember the first time they flowed, silently trickling down those royal cheeks.  It was …   OK.  I need a breather.  Someone asked me the other day if I was making this up as I went along.  Well, in this format, yes.  One of those loosely based on a true story things.   Chris texted me before I left San Antonio.  She told me to say hello to Zak and Caleb.  They just happened to be sitting at the table with me, so I delivered the message.  Christi asked Zak what message he wanted to send to Nani.  And his reply has become my new all time favorite tidbit of randomness.  "Nani, I stew you."  Me, too, Chris.  I think.   I stopped by Bay City on the way home and ended up having to rearrange furniture.  A hospital bed was being delivered.  That was a big step for Chris' Mom because she saw the as the final evidence of giving up.  They final convinced her to do it by agreeing to call it a day bed instead.  They were making all kinds of plans to decorate it to look like a couch.  And she issued a warning to anyone who dared call it a hospital bed.  They would get thumped.  Guess who was the first culprit?  No, not me.  Chris.  But she was standing too far away to get thumped.  But when she least expects it …   Psalms 51:15 says, "Lord, open my lips, and my mouth will declare your praise."   Father, I know that one sounded a little different when the priest used to say it back at Grace Episcopal, but I was a kid then.  And I didn't even know it was from your word.  I have learned a lot since then.  Not done yet.  Amen.