Today

Thursday.

Day Eight.

Eight days now since the incident at work. And still no word.

Fuckers.

Nick just called. Again. I ignored it. Again.

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I went to Canadian Tire yesterday afternoon. I’ve been thinking for months now that I’d like to have a bird feeder in the back yard. I enjoy sitting at the table and watching the birds through the window. So I went to the store and spent $69. on two feeders, a metal crook to hold them and a couple of bags of seed. I assembled it all and filled the feeders. Two pounds of mixed seed in one. The other is a tube for finches. I filled that one with fine Niger seed and hung them both on the metal stake.

This morning, I watched what can only be described as a feeding frenzy, as dozens of sparrows emptied the mixed seed onto the ground where four squirrels and two fat pigeons gobbled up everything they could find. Two pounds of seed, Ms J, gone in less than one day. And I saw no trace of a tiny finch. The Niger seed remains untouched.

I am disappointed. I’d hoped to attract some colourful birds – Cardinals, Blue Jays, and maybe a few Finches. Maybe I’m using the wrong kind of seed. Or maybe the wrong kind of feeder. I’m reluctant to refill it. Let the damn pigeons and squirrels find food elsewhere.

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I attended a meeting at the church this morning. I’m on the Lay/Intern Supervisory Team that oversees the progress of our student minister. Her name’s Deb. She’s young and pretty. And of course, very nice.

I sat quietly through most of the meeting, contributing nothing to the conversation. I really didn’t feel like being there. I was clearly not myself and someone asked me what was wrong. I shook my head and said nothing. I was so sad, Ms J. I knew I couldn’t speak without crying. I’m the only man in a group of six women and although I had my head bowed, I could feel their eyes upon me.

“Are you OK, Dale?” asked one.

And that was it. I could bear it no longer and I began to weep. I told them my troubles and they listened. They really listened, Ms J. They offered sympathy and compassion.

Charlotte invited me to stand in the middle of the floor while the women joined hands and surrounded me. I felt supported and loved. I felt accepted and nurtured. Protected, if only for that moment, from any harm that might befall me.

Charlotte prayed for me. How incredibly powerful it felt, Ms Journal, to be the object of prayer.

Thank you, God, for friends who love me.

I wish I could tell Mum and Dad about this, but I don’t want to burden them. They’re concerned about Baby David and about my sister, Helen and her cancer. They have enough to worry about without bearing my cares as well.

All will be well, won't it, Ms J? All will be well. One day.

In His time, on His schedule. His will, not mine.

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