Nothing Comes Between a Man and His Yarn?

I drove in from Houston yesterday just in time to hang out with some old college friends I hadn't seen a while. We did nothing more than stay in the place where they were crashing trying to change the world in a single night, and came up way short. By the time I realized how late it was I was too tired to drive home. True to college form everyone found the coziest couch, and in my case corner on the floor. Rising to realize these aren't as favorable of conditions as they used to be it was decided that I needed to get on with my day and make good use of my time. Grimy and gross, the conditions were instead ripe for sitting outside writing and sweating out the previous evening. Two cups of coffee in, a beer on the way, and two written pages down this younger guy came strolling in with a couple of tote bags.

Had he not kept looking over each shoulder spotting his investigative peers I probably would have never looked over my computer or hunched position over the leather bound journal. It's all good man. Rambeau's not looking. Whatcha got in there? Boom! Out comes some yarn and chop stick looking things. Duuuude, are you croqueting!? Hold up, that's a lawn game I think. Crocheting? Knitting? I don't know the difference if there is one, but right on. Do your thing bud. I'm not judging. I'm just interested to understand your interest in the delicate intricacies of your yarn. Carry on. To this bizarre bean who isn't afraid to get pointed at and picked on by his peers in class anymore: you know you are...

The Point is...

Exactly one week ago I was sitting in exactly the same place as I am today, outside at a coffee shop writing and enjoying the day; 12o hand written pages into yet another novel. My concentration was broken by several emails, texts, and phone calls which were all heartfelt explanations of what my mom's teachings in my recently released book, God from the Grave: a story of life, even in death, had done for them.

My mother took on the biggest battle of her life, and lived to serve others; acknowledging that it was going to take a miracle for her to survive, but that her prayers for a miracle would be answered because she said God could not use her from the grave. The book was written to overcome that last notion in a positive way, and to own up to the natural circumstances all of humanity is subject to, when we seemingly lost her. In every way people were taking the time to reach out last week, each were emotional and even tearful explanations of forgiveness, re-kindled relationships and friendships, and the power her faith now had on their every day lives.

With more clarity than ever before, I realized that her prayers were answered, and her body did not wilt away in the grave because now she quite literally embodies the miracle she asked for. Needless to say, I had a hard time keeping it together in a public place, and nothing more got done, but my life is made that much better knowing her miracle lives on through others.