Inga Larsson sipped the last of her tea. She savored each drop and she knew that she had a big day ahead of her. She had just returned from her beloved country of Sweden to say her final goodbyes to her dear mother. Though her heart grieved she had made a commitment to plan and prepare for the annual Christmas lunch at the Food Pantry. She would do her best to set aside sadness to fulfill her obligation. She still had to find a few more volunteers to decorate and someone to provide music for the festivities. While Hank Johnson was devoid of color in his life, Inga was all about color.
She would soon turn sixty-four and she vowed that she would never let age deter her from being active. As a retired nurse, it afforded her a comfortable lifestyle. Having never married, she traveled to far off places and wanted to experience as much as possible, but always with God’s final ok on her decision-making. She was not one to sit on the fence of life and watch it go by. It was December first and time to get cracking. Of all her years of eating oatmeal for breakfast seemed to give her enough energy to run miles around those half her age. She reminisced a moment about her lovely mother. She had been a woman of strength and character. She had a beautiful heart and had always given over and beyond when it came to helping those in need.
In her mind her mother was an angel. She glanced at the clock and realized that it would soon be time to meet with the director of the House of Hope and work out some of the details. She laughed as she looked at Mitt. Mitten had been a stray kitten that Inga had coaxed into her home by feeding her.
Mitten had brought her hours of entertainment, laughter and joy. Laughter to Inga was good medicine. She believed it would cure whatever ailed you.
A joyful heart is good medicine but a crushed spirit dries up bones.