The two of them came rushing to my rescue when I fell down the stairs Thursday morning, landing loudly on my elbow and my bum in a heap of shoes by the front door. Rita rushed to fetch an icepack from the freezer for my injured arm, and Brad went for a wad of tissue from the bathroom to tuck under my head. Then he brought his blanket and a pillow, saying generously that I could borrow them, since I was hurt. They were both very concerned, and hovered around patting me gently until I was able to get up (groaning) and thank them both for being so sweet. No bones broken, thank God, but I’ve got a really remarkable bruise on my backside as a souvenir of my tumble.
Other than the shower head shrieking terribly throughout my evening ablutions, the church women’s retreat on Maryland’s Eastern Shore has thus far been lovely; my comrades are friendly, and the accommodations pleasant. I want to shed the grief that’s been haunting me, to reconnect with God, and be reminded of his fatherhood and that he does have a good plan for my life. I’ve been so thoroughly discouraged over the last couple of months that I’ve begun to fear the advent of another of my terrible every seven-year bouts with deep depression, and become really desperate for spiritual encouragement and renewal. Furthermore, I’ve been punishingly lonely without family (it was hard to leave Rhode Island, and this notwithstanding the cold and the lack of green—it was just so good to be with my loved ones) and feeling ever more intellectually stagnant. So, I hope this weekend will be a blessing. I need help.