I Do Not Need Much
I Do Not Need Much
Give me a small porch and an old rocking chair facing East. I’ll be up early to watch the sunrise.
Give me a 10 ounce coffee mug and Mr. Coffee maker. Nothing fancy, just something that gets the job done.
Give me a cast iron skillet. Grab it from the Goodwill or rummage sale down the road. I’ll use it to make scrambled eggs and quesadillas and grilled cheese sandwiches. Maybe I’ll get crazy and whip up some hash browns like I’m at Waffle House.
Give me a journal and black ink pen. Not blue. Blue is too much. Black, please.
Give me a car that doesn’t have a touch screen. I want to drive. A CD player would be nice.
Give me a call after work and before you get home. I don’t need all your time, but some would do us well.
Give me an old church with old books and old music. It doesn’t matter if the church is old, because mercy is always new.
Give me a couple of minutes to get ready. I do not need much time. My belt is still in the pair of pants I wore yesterday and the day before.
Give me your attention. Not forever, but just while we are together. Leave your phone in your pocket, or better yet, inside. Let’s not be distracted.
Let’s just be.