God brought breakfast

Oh the bittersweet Longing of my soul. I dream of coercion and care and of what I cannot have. When I wake up I grieve.

I want God to ring my doorbell today. No, not ring the doorbell, he will have his own key and walk right in even though I protest that I'm still in my PJs and my hair is unwashed and the remains of yesterday's dinner still sit on the TV table. He tells me to jump in the shower while he makes my bed and clears away the dishes and puts breakfast on the table: fresh orange juice, coffee, cereals, fruit and croissants that he brought after having had to look for them all over town. When I emerge in my huge bathrobe with wet hair he tells me I'm beautiful as always. We sit down and eat breakfast. He gives me time to enjoy it. He looks at me with all-seeing eyes and asks how I am. He listens. I slowly start to feel better, I bask in the warmth of his unwavering attention. When I'm on my last mug of coffee we start planning my day together. I don't want to, but he is determined. After a while, I see a line of order appear in the chaos of my life - and more importantly, I feel a glimmering of interest.

Right, let's get started, he announces at last. Remember, I'm here with you. Any problems, just ask. You do your work for today while I work on your future. Short coffee break in two hours. And tonight, we'll rent a movie or something. You'll see, it will be fun.

And it is.