I hate being in funks. A funk runs completely against my normally positive attitude. Usually when one is in the middle of funks, there seems no end in sight...but then of course it eventually turns around, it's just not easy being patient and waiting.
Funks make me reflective, and sad. I am usually a crier, but it becomes a bit extreme during these times. I'm embarrassed to say that I cried this past weekend on a plane because an elderly couple couldn't find seats to sit together. I would have offered me and my mom's seat to them, but I got too choked up to even say anything... *sigh*
A good, good friend passed away a couple of weeks ago and this past weekend I travelled with my mom to Pennsylvania to attend his memorial service. He was a surrogate grandfather to me when we lived in Pennsylvania and my own grandfather was thousand of miles away. I grew up with his grandchildren like they were my own family. And they were. Family isn't defined by genes or blood tests, it's determined by time spent with them, memories made, hard times stuck through with. I was sad when I heard the news, but it wasn't until I stepped into his house when I realized that he was gone. It felt empty without him. Glen was a huge man, he played football in college and when he stood in the doorway, he took up the whole space. As a child I always imagined the house shaking when he laughed. He had a great laugh. He once told me that if I drank coffee, I would have hair on my chest by the time I was six. Needless to say, I don't drink coffee... Glen, you will be sorely missed.
Today, I have been given grace to endure. Tomorrow, I pray for grace to enjoy.
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