I woke this morning with a calm spirit, sandwiched between unruffled, barely-touched blankets - having slept soundly for the first time in ages, just like the proverbial log. Our little unassuming house by the lake seems warm, still, quiet, cozy, and comforting, a haven overlooking the choppy-gray, wind-swept lake with its multi-colored autumn border. I am blessed to be here, with a challenging project on the horizon that fits my aptitudes a little better than the current body-and-soul-altering manual labor jobs in Buck Creek.
I hope, during the next week or so, to help a friend named Helga write her memoirs of growing up in Germany during World War II. It seems to be a multi-layered assignment where facts and chronology must underlie Helga’s remembrances: little-girl impressions, reactions, and feelings. I pray for wisdom and creative expression to do her story justice.
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