Lord, it is after 3 in the morning: my “worry hour.” The terror of the night is creeping into my mind as I imagine the worst. Our adult son, Douglas, isn’t back in yet, in the home we share, so he can be safe in the bed we provide, so he can sleep in peace in those rare moments when his busy mind allows rest.
But now, at 3 a.m., he is out there. Lonely and confused. At best, he’s at a late-night diner having coffee and chatting it up with whoever will talk to him. At worst … oh the terror of the night creeps into my mind. Continue reading