“I told you purchasing the condo might not have been the best move. I mean, you seem like you know what
you want in life, but you never know when Jesus might take hold of that heart of yours again and send you with me.
You know, like before. When we did this together.”
Her big smile and dreamy gaze quit making me feel guilty years ago. “I don‟t think that‟s going to happen.”
“Those were such fun days, Ann. Remember the Psalms? How we used to sing them all the time? Lord our
Lord, how excellent is thy name . . .
Some habits never die. “Stop singing, Mom. It‟s not working.” She doesn‟t understand. I‟m not
her. It‟s her dream, her calling, to live in airports and impoverished villages with people who don‟t speak the same
language and whose eyes are filled with hope.
A hope I don‟t understand at times. How can they keep hoping when nothing ever changes?
And I love Jesus. I just choose to love him in the Atlanta area.
Locally. “Mom, you know the condo was a great purchase. I bought it for half its original price. I‟ll figure it allout. Like you said, I‟m sure I‟ll have no trouble finding something else.”
I speak the words with a confidence I don‟t feel. Jobs are scarce. And I need a high
-paying one, like the one Ileft. Or rather the one that left me.
My mom‟s fingers brush the top of mine. “You know, Ann, I do enjoy and appreciate this time we have
er. I know I‟m never home for long, but it does my heart good to see my girl when I‟m here.”
A lot of moms would have tears in their eyes at a moment like this, but not mine. I believe she firmly means what she says, but I learned long ago that Trixie either has no emotions or she keeps them hidden. I guess if she
didn‟t it would be too hard to live through her days in the mission field.
The only topic that seems to unnerve her is any discussion of my father. And that has been frustrating. I‟ve
seen my birt
h certificate. I know my father‟s name. Antonio Thomas. I also know I was born in Hampton Cove,Florida and my father‟s occupation was listed as unemployed.
Maybe that‟s why mom left.
A strange sense of loyalty to my mom keeps me from digging deeper right now. Maybe later. But the older Iget, the harder it is to squelch the urge that will probably be her undoing.
BACK IN MY condo I‟m supposed to be looking for a job, but instead I‟m scouring the internet for shoes. Notjust any shoes, mind you. No, I‟m loo
king for very special shoes.
Shoes I can‟t afford.
Crazy, isn‟t it? But it‟s my obsession I guess you can say.
Looking is my obsession, not buying.I tried one time. Tried to spend hundreds of dollars on a pair of shoes with a surprise bonus from work. Iplanned to walk into the shoe store and purchase the beautiful shoes I passed by every day, wishing they were mine.I did make it through the door.I actually sat in the luxurious chair and gave the sales girl my shoe size.But while she went to the back to find the amazingly beautiful shoe I panicked.Okay, maybe using the word panic is infusing a little too much drama. But visions of my mom, visions of thepeople she ministered to day after day, year after year, walked that Jimmy Choo shoe right out of my mind.Slipping my own worn-out sandal on my foot, I high-tailed it out of the store. Once at home, I mailed a check to HOW, Hearts of the World, the organization my mom missions through.
That‟s how I became a monthly donor to HOW.
But the longing for nice
shoes is still there. The Jimmy Choo page looms in front of me. I can‟t look too long
before reality sets in. No job and a one-room condo. A condo with a mortgage. And I love my condo. The Atlanta skyline is visible from my window. Tall buildings of different heights jut toward the sky. Today low hanging clouds and rain put a damper on the normally beautiful view. Thunder rumbles a short distance away.
I hope this weather isn‟t a forecast for the rest of spring.
But even though the weather is dreary my condo is cozy. My daybed with its chocolate, sky blue and whitestriped comforter sits along the same wall as my desk. Two wall screens, arranged perfectly, give the illusion I havean actual bedroom. My fluffy white cat, Princess Sari, otherwise known as PS, sits in the middle of my bed bathing
herself. PS is terribly spoiled, but I can‟t help it.
take care of what I love.