I'm really back this time

This poor blog. I've been treating it like a housplant--giving it a few drops of water occasionally under the mistaken notion that it will stay alive (and stand upright and put out blossoms!) with just this littlest bit of attention.

But I'm back, and boy howdy, I'm ready to blog.

Part of this is due to my Abilene friend, Sarah Stirman. She has been passionately pursuing her writing dream, and I've been watching the process evolve through her blog and on facebook. She is bold enough to get out there and pursue what is in her heart. So she writes and she writes, even on the days she might not feel like it or might feel she has little to say--because that's what writers do. They write. (I secretly want to be her and I've already told her I want to be in the Coffee Group in my next life. She told me to get my own Coffee Group--so takers, anyone?! :-) She is a sweetie.)

I'm also ready to blog because I've got some stories to tell--stories that have been knocking around in my head and need a place to go so that I can move on and think about other things. I can only hold so much up there at one time. (The amount seems smaller than it used to, but still).

My first story has to do with a small 5 year old boy at our neighborhood park. His mom is on drugs, his dad has disappeared, and he is living with his great grandmother. He also is going to be a cowboy when he turns 6 and is practicing now by brushing his teeth with grass, because cowboys don't use toothbrushes. He told me that he could speak Indian, and showed me by enthusiastically pronouncing the word "grande", which he correctly identified as being big. Yep, the boy knows Indian. He was at the park with his great grandmother, who showed no signs of loving this boy, but who seemed very put out by her emerging cowpoke. He stayed by my side, visiting and visiting, until Rob rode up on his bike--Luke and Rob got him interested in a game of throwing the football, which clearly delighted him. It was also clear that he had never thrown a football IN HIS LIFE.

I wanted to scoop him up and take him home with me.

We can always use another cowpoke around the ranch, and my kids don't brush their teeth, either.

There are so many children with stories like his. I don't know what to do about them all, so I just keep loving my two and praying and hoping that God will intervene and make their little lives right and good. I hope I make myself available when He calls on me to do just that. Yesterday, all I did was listen and act maternal, with a few "attaboy" and "good job!" and "wow, you're strong!" thrown in. It wasn't enough, I know.