There's lots of blues in Blogville

After reading over this entry, I realize it may sound a little "preachy", which isn't my usual style. Consider yourself warned: some of my readers may want to skip this one.

We're having a genuine winter here in Missouri, with very few breaks between the cold spells. I count my blessings daily, and they are many; but I confess that it's sometimes hard to stay chipper on these bitterly frigid days, with all the extra bills that come flooding in at this time of year. Add to that the rising price of gasoline, propane and groceries.

I've noticed, while surfing through my favorite blogs, that I'm not the only one who's a little "down in the dumps".

When I open my Bloglines each morning, there aren't half as many new entries as there normally are. And I've added a lot of new blogs lately, so there should be more than in the past.

This doesn't help the situation: Cliff and I hear of the death of somebody we care about every week or so, of late. I realize that goes with the territory when you're past sixty years old, but it isn't a thing a person gets used to. We had a discussion yesterday about how it could be either of us next, at any moment. The older we get, the more likely it is that our number will be up.

As a Christian, I believe in life on the other side of the grave. But as a human, I'm in no hurry to leave this poor, battle-scarred body.

Cliff and I used to laugh at my mom who, in her eighties, after being widowed for the second time, would sometimes say with a sigh, "Why can't I just die?"

But at the first tornado watch of spring, she was running to the basement.

I can imagine myself in her shoes nowadays.

Spring will come again. Chances are, I'll have several more weeks, months, or even years to share my life with my friends through my blogs.

The best I can do is to take this day and live it to the fullest.

For this day, I can try not to be judgmental (which is probably my worst fault). I can do my best to see troubled people the way Jesus saw them when He walked the earth... the way He still sees us, I'm sure: "When he saw the crowds, he had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd."

In the words of the old song: "Life's evening sun is sinking low; a few more days and I must go."