I bought this shirt around a week ago. I like it so much I've worn it twice since. I sent a picture of it to my mom because the words on it have special meaning.
My mom battled cancer back in 2006. She entered the fight, already a victim. She'd forever been captive to chronic worry.
God brought a change in her that still baffles those of us who know her best. Usually not one to approach others, her fear and anxiety in social situations seemed to dissipate.
By making and sharing bookmarks bearing a poem she'd written she'd entertain strangers and encourage the downtrodden. (She still does.)
I don't ever remember her complaining or talking about the what if's.
Her fight seemed to uncover a mission.
I told her one time that she'd turned from a worrier into a warrior. I thought I coined the phrase...so hearing it now, and seeing it on T-shirts brings a mix of pleasure and disappointment (Why didn't I get that brilliance on a mug or a shirt myself?)
I wore it on lonnnnng yesterday. Then I just left it on and slipped on some pajama bottoms and then wore it last night for a round of ridiculously stressful dreams; the kind I have following weary days.
Opening my eyes this morning I started to think about the nightmares I had last night. (I make it a practice to take awful dream inventory so that I can compare myself to Stephen King or other creepy storytellers.) I guess you say I collect bad dreams and write nightmares.
Let's just say I'm surprised I'm still wearing the shirt. Both yesterday and the other occasion I put it on ended up being two of the harder days in recent history. Both days presented overwhelming concerns and some decent sized heartache. If I believed in omens, this shirt would fall under the bad omen category.
Good thing I don't believe in omens.
I will wear the shirt. I won't replay broken dreams. And I'm going to stop thinking ahead, doomingly writing scary scripts on my future. There's no place for such.
I'm the daughter of a warrior.
You are my war club, my weapon for battle— Jeremiah 51:20