I’ve said it. A lot – sometimes with a tear-stained face and sometimes with freshly stepped in manure my shoe. Yes, I pretty much run the range of self pity; I would guess I’m above average on the amount I do that, but I know there are tons of people who succumb to the same foible.
Yesterday, while standing in line in Wal-Mart with stuff for Robert’s birthday, including brown eggs from chickens that had been fed a vegetarian diet (You can find a little humor in the smallest places), I saw a wee boy in the cart in front of me, blond, blue-eyed and a usual baby look. His grandfather or dad, and I’m guessing it was his grandfather shopping with his daughter, the baby’s mother, told me the boy had a medical list of issues a mile long and there would be countless trips to Riley Hospital in Indianapolis. He said they had had a garage sale for a fundraiser and had netted $17. Seventeen dollars, sigh. I unfortunately can see people quibbling about price at a fundraiser for a little boy. “Hey, there’s a scratch here, will you knock off a dollar?”
Just two days before I had heard about a young nursing student whose mother died of cancer this past summer and then was diagnosed with it herself. She is trying to keep going in school and, I was told, trying to maintain the family home for her younger brother. I don’t know if her father has already passed away or has skipped out, but, my goodness, a young woman with a teen-aged brother, alone with cancer. If anyone has a right to put her head against the wall, and scream Why me?, I would think she would. (That was another story from Wal-Mart – I’m almost afraid to go again.)
Well, when I look in the mirror today and see another chin hair, I think I’ll just forget the Why me, Lord? question. Human nature being what it is, however, a full beard might trigger it.
