Hangers

I am not sure how it happens, though it seems to take place either at night, while I am sleeping, or during the day, while I am away from the house. But whenever, and however, they reproduce themselves over and over and over.

Hangers.

I bundle up all the clothes-less ones in my closet, and take them to the cleaners to be recycled, and by the time I get home that evening, my closet is overflowing once again. I take them down to the basement, so we can re-use them after doing laundry, and they tip-toe back upstairs in the dead of night.

Just like my prayers.

I go through my list of people I pray for, and by the time I am done, it is time to pray for them all over again. I cross one name off the list because the person has been released from the hospital, and three more calls come into the church about folks. I can stop praying for so-and-so since they have found a new job, and what's-her-name calls to tell me of troubles in the family. I just get through lifting up those who were devastated by Katrina and Rita, and the news comes on about the earthquake in Pakistan and India.

The needs, the hurts, the losses, the hopes, the dreams, the failures - whether it's at night while I am sleeping, or during the day when I am away from the church, they reproduce themselves over and over and over. It doesn't matter how often I try to recycle them, or store them in the basement of my soul. They just keep tip-toeing back into my life.

What's a person to do?

I guess I will keep hanging my prayers on that Rod who comforts us,who hears us, who heals us, who struggles with us, who suffers with us, who is always with us.

(c) 2005 Thom M. Shuman