Dear God,

I search on the internet for a community that no longer exists. I type in street names, an elementary school, even a sir name or two of people I remember.

Nothing at first, then a picture of the school pops up; but it isn't right. Where are the double doors and the steps? I remember a rug with an eagle on it—was that inside the front doors or outside of them? Where is the odd-ball gym equipment?

I am empty. I need the images to fill my emptiness. I am desperate.

I remember a blizzard. I type in dates, kind of haphazard at first because I'm not really thinking. Then I stop and think, I count forward from my birth, from my sister's, trying to narrow it down. When was the blizzard? When did my mom slip on the icy sidewalk with me riding on her back? When? When? When?

Breath.

I am calming down now God. I'm sorry that these things matter to me. My life is a puzzle missing pieces, gigantic ones and small ones.

I won't give up. I think I am finally on the right path, walking toward something instead of always running.

Breath.

Thank you God for helping me to see the path.

Amen,

Jamie