The Light

I am not a big fan of going to the doctors unless the bright white light is calling me. I need to see the light for me to even think about going to the doctors. Mark is well aware of this. He rolls his eyes to the back of his mother's head and whisks me away for treatment. I cry and cry because I know my Dad and Jesus are calling me to the light, and I am torn as to whether to go with them, or, sit in an office waiting my turn to enter a room.

Wishes

We ain't got snow, or mistletoe, but we have castles made of wishes.