Two sleepless nights. The worry monster sat on the edge of my pillow. It crops up every now and then since I’ve become widowed and lost the safety net of my husband’s income. Each time when it looks like I am running out of money, something, a definite God-thing happens.

Yet, I still go through the ritual toss and turn as each worry floats to the surface of my thoughts like a Magic Eight Ball phrase on the floating triangle.  I haven’t been able to find a job, the freelance work is drying up, the books need to sell more, I should be speaking more, I got denied a lower rate of insurance because I have occasional muscle pains? Really??    . . .  yah-di-yah, yah.

Last night, even my cats snuggled close and purred comfort–or maybe it was because it got below freezing and the cold air was seeping through their pet door in the…