"That Cuban girl who brought me low,
she had the skin so fine and limbs that rose like now;
her mouth was wide, and sweet as well,
and I'll know untold hours now dreaming of her smell...
And I feel as if I'm looking at the world from the bottom
of a well --
Lonely, frustrated, misunderstood, taken for granted, unable to successfully feel sorry for myself because I know so many other people who have it worse. Pastor Lott, who insists on referring to me as "woman of God," reminds me on the phone this afternoon that we can't be in Christ when we're complaining. Which is certainly true. I'm ungrateful, which is crazy and shameful. But I'm lonely too, wishing there were someone listening who could tell me something new --
and here's a food shelf client at the door. Right on time.