After another lengthy absence, I am filled with trepidation about jumping back into the blog pool. Strange that I would feel so anxious, when this outlet has provided me with nothing but encouragement, friendship and a safe place for me to share...well, bits and pieces of everything. Still, I feel as if I must maintain an upbeat, lighthearted facade so as not to dump a bucket of rainwater on anyone who stumbles across this part of my world. I think I'll test the waters with my little toe and share that, because of impulsive choices I have made during the last few months, I find myself in a place of deep emotional and spiritual (dare I say it?) despair. Aside from not being able to eat or sleep regularly, my health is fine...so I'm grateful to not have to add "physical" to my list of woes. Much as I'd love to be able to point fingers elsewhere, I have to own the bad decisions I've made and start tackling the debris. Prayer is, of course, the best place to start. I must confess, however, I feel as if God is shaking his head woefully, whispering "You're on your own with this one, Little Girl. I sent you all the warning flags I could muster".
So, where does the little white wagon fit in to this? During one of my recent run-aways to the beach, it was parked under a tree by walkway over the sand dunes. I'd never seen a little white wagon. Red? Sure...plenty of them! This white one captured my attention...sitting there painted the "wrong" color, waiting to be filled...put to use, not sure what direction she would be pulled in, rusty & peeling, but still steady on her wheels.
