In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Proud.”
Sunday, is almost another day of panic pressure. Mainly because I have the building keys, and several prep and cleanup duties.
Today I planned on a nonpanic day by handing off the keys to someone else.
This Sunday I walk to church slowly and enjoying temperatures out of the single digits, a balmy 31 F outside. Slipping into mc Donalds for a coffee to go and making it just in time for Sunday school. A good discussion on race reconciliation was going when my phone buzzed.
My wife who was at home, preparing soup for or our church meal, had lost her her car keys. Swallowing the last of my coffee I slipped out and jogged the mile home. Accually I walked half of it as my 58 year old lungs needed some oxygen. And my heart who I had assured earlier of a non panic morning, was threatening to jump ship.
I rounded the corner and saw my wife smile woth releif to see me. Catching my breath we hoped in the car and drove back. She told me she was proud of me and i was her superman.
The soup was especially good.