transportation to visit Milly. Ever the obedient daughter, despite having more to do than she could handle, Lilly would agree to go. She never went to Milly’s house. They met at restaurants and Lilly never stayed over. It was a tiring trip but one she couldn’t refuse to make.
Lilly had been worn down by all the pressures in her life and didn’t know which way to turn. One day right before Christmas, Harve came home with a large wrapped box.
“This is for you. A gift.”
“A gift? I thought we decided no gifts for each other.”
That had been an easy decision to make. On Harve’s salary there was hardly enough money to get by, especially with two kids in the house who thought they should have the same high-priced sneakers everybody else wore.
“I know, but I think you need this.”
“What is it?”
“Open it, go ahead.”
She’d loved the books but wished he hadn’t put the business about prayer journalon every single one of them.
“I know you would have liked something else, but with all you’re going through right now, I thought you needed a place to talk to God.”
It had struck her as an odd thing to say.
“My dearest,” he said. “You love to write. This is a way for you to write your feelings, get them off your chest and onto the page. It’s a way to count your blessings instead of looking at all the ways you’re feeling pressured.”
It took a while to get into it but once she did she enjoyed—and admittedly—benefited from the experience. The last time she’d written in it was the day Harve died, more than two years ago. She opened the journal to her last entry.
That Harve. Honestly, Lord, you would think the only thing we have to do is dig in the dirt. He’s going to give me a heart attack! I’m not one for working too hard, as you know. As for Harve, he gets such joy out of it and I thank you for that. Still, February is too early to be turning soil in northern New Mexico. You could send a cold snap and all this work would be for nothing.
He’s already talking about what he will put in the garden this year. Okra. First time he tried it I told him you can’t grow okra in this part of the country; it’s too cold. You know what happened, Lord, he had a bumper crop and everyone at church got more than enough (probably more than some of them wanted).
Why did you put us together? We’re hardly suited. He’s such a good man and, well, you know me, Lord, I’m not so good. Anyway, thank you for this day and every day. Amen
She blinked away the sting in her eyes. The next day he had the heart attack and died. She closed the book and slipped it back in the drawer. She removed her glasses from the top of her head, laid them on the nightstand and turned out the light. Sleep seemed unlikely but it stole over her. Lulled by the oddly comforting sound of Krank’s breathing Lilly was soon asleep.
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