Saving Sunday

I thought about posting something nostalgic yesterday, but time got away from me- which is rather ironic because yesterday, I did absolutely nothing except cook lunch, then dinner, and cleaned up in-between. In other words, time was on my side. The couch and I have been reuniting as of late and let me tell you, it's been a long time coming.

A few weekends ago, I remarked to the husband that I had developed a love/hate relationship with the weekend. To be more specific, Sunday had become the day of dread simply because Monday was the train wreck that could not be avoided. As a result, Sunday was spent watching the clock and bemoaning each passing hour and every bit of work-work that I had to cram into that given day.

(Work-work as in paycheck work, not the payless work found in everyday housework... definitely worth making the distinction).

So, the man in whom I have become so dependent on to keep me sane grew silent- which is unusual in itself, took a long breath, and looked me straight in the eye. Being the dreamer that I am, I anticipated his next words to be something along the line of "Well, just quit."

I was also once a sixteen year-old girl who was convinced my dad was going to find a way to get that 1986 Mustang GT Convertible, white with red leather interior, from the showroom floor just for me- or, at the very least, bring home that snazzy, red Pontiac Fiero from the used lot.

Like I said, I'm a bit of a dreamer. 

Alas, much like the unattainable dream of a sports car at sixteen, the husband did not tell me to quit or produce a winning lotto ticket or empathize with me for even a minute. To my teary tirade of what a mess Sunday has become for me mentally, he simply and matter-of-factly stated, "Then take your Sunday back."

With those words, which were oddly enough said on a Sunday morning, he turned and walked away, leaving me reeling in wave after wave of emotion and thought. Take my Sunday back? Such a ludicrous phrase, and yet I couldn't help but wonder. It sounded just crazy enough to work. After all, the man has never led me astray to date. I took his words to heart and two weekends later, I have done just that. I'm still in the beginning phase and not totally convinced that I'll be able to keep this up, but I am much more relaxed and as a result, determined to make this the new normal. I have also been more focused during the actual week knowing that, as Ecclesiastes says, there's a time for everything.

For the record, the first Sunday was rough. Every hour I would head to my laptop just to remind myself, "Nope." I fought off feelings of guilt and laziness and a general sense of "not good enough." But I also cooked a guiltless dinner for my family because I wasn't cranky and took my time cleaning because there was nothing sitting in a queue for the printer to print. I went to bed relatively relaxed and still managed to have a successful Monday even though I had not spent the Sunday prior staring at a screen.

So that's why the couch and I have become reunited. I've watched tv and read an actual book and napped at random times. I even decided to jump on this cobweb-encrusted blog as you can see (or read). If I keep this up, those freed-up Sundays might just produce that spark for which I've been waiting.

Better rest up.

Side Note: It's been a little over 2 months now, but Benny Boy left us for greener pastures and unlimited birds to chase. Those who have been around here for a while will know him. He was always my writing buddy and my constant companion back during those long days at home. I miss him dearly.

The Worry Tree

Years ago, when the husband worked in law enforcement, he planted a tree in our front yard. I'm sure he didn't plan it at the time- after all, we just thought the front yard needed a little something extra; but that tree would come to represent him leaving his worries behind before he came into the house. This past week with all of its drama and heartache and nonsense that have flooded every newsfeed known to mankind has caused my thoughts to wander back to the era of the worry tree.

I am pretty sure he got the idea from something he had read. I seem to recall reading or hearing about a similar tale at some point in my life. It doesn't really matter, though, because as we all know, the best ideas are bound to be repeated. This was a good idea.

After he would step out of his patrol car and before he would come into the house, he would pause for the briefest of moments and mentally hang his worries on that tree. Worries that were images, burdens, and thoughts of despair.

In other words, humanity at its worse.

He would hang the unpleasantness of the job on a limb that certainly would have never been able to bear the true weight of such a thing and would proceed to walk inside the house, weary and hungry, and hug each of us one by one. I could not help but to think this week of the wives and children in Dallas who would not be receiving those same kind of hugs ever again and my heart literally broke.

I can remember one particular night during his career when I paced the floor waiting for that man of mine to come home. I had heard tales of a particular call that involved gunfire and even when he personally called me to assure me all was well, I did not believe it until I physically had him within reach. I can distinctly remember him looking at me ever so seriously and quietly saying, "I will always come home."

But we all know that promise does not always end well.

And so I had those memories swirling through my overactive brain as I was watching the events of Dallas unfold the other night. Lives that were cut short because they went to work that day. Families who would forever be changed because of the delusion of one man. Since that night, every talking head in America seems to have a solution on what we should do and what lives matter and what steps we can take to heal our land.  The truth remains that  regulations and protests and hashtags will do nothing to solve the evil in the heart of man.

The husband works no more in law enforcement (although his ears perk up every time he hears a siren and I know in his mind, he is racing toward another call). We have long since moved from that little house in a little town with a little tree out front. To my knowledge, none of our current trees serve to bear his burdens before he comes inside the house to hug each---- well, just me now. We pray for our country as we pray for those who serve to protect, assist, and defend; and we worry what the future holds for our children's children.

I can only think of one tree that can bear that kind of burden.

And it was made into a cross.

Suffocating Santa

Normally the unveiling of the Santa under the tree would be a momentous occasion for our family. A cause for a phone call made for the sole purpose of taunting his former owner. A sight that would officially ring in the Christmas season for this particular household. Today, or yesterday if we want to be exact, his rosy cheeks only made me cry.

I still cannot believe my father is gone. When the call came back in May with the devastating news that a mass had been discovered and even when the depressing pathology report was later read aloud, I distinctly remember thinking,

At least we'll have Christmas.

I never expected to say good-bye as autumn was just beginning.

I mourn my father every day. A few weeks ago, I dreamed about him for the first time since he's been gone. In that dream, he appeared similar to how he looked as his days on earth came to an end. He was thinner and his hair was cropped short, but he wore no glasses and he was by no means weak. He sat on the end of a couch by two men I did not know and patted his knee for me to sit on his lap. As I sat on my father's lap, he wrapped a blanket around me and simply said, "Tell me about your day." I talked and talked until the sound of my alarm shattered what had been an absolutely perfect dream. I found myself angry and resentful all over again.

I loved my dad.

We talked almost every day. It's rather difficult to go from that to...

Nothing.

The Santa that sits under the tree belonged to my parents' household. I'm not quite sure how I inherited him, but inherit him I did and for years my household has enjoyed having him under our many Christmas trees. Always, always I would call my dad the moment Santa was in place and we usually played the game of "how did he end up there?" It was just one of those family jokes. This year, however, there was no laughing. When we began unpacking Christmas totes yesterday, I was caught off guard when those rosy cheeks and mushed beard peeked out at me. To be honest, I plunked him back inside a plastic bag so fast that if Santa had been real, he would have stood zero chance of surviving his oxygen-deprived environment. My heart sank as the reality of this Christmas set in harder than a block of concrete sinking the sweetest of dreams. I even entertained the thought of "not this year, Santa." As far as I was concerned, that plastic bag could be his tomb for at least another year.

But then the tree was up.

The husband trimmed it perfectly.
The youngest decorated it beautifully.
The cats sniffed it appropriately.

Only one thing, one item, one memory was missing.

I know people say to remember the memories. I know my mom has heard that saying often. I know there's a lot of truth to that and I do believe that time has a way of healing all wounds, but for now just bear with me.

My heart breaks when I look at that Santa and yet I firmly believe he is right where he needs to be. My dad wouldn't have it any other way. Tears fall down my cheeks, though, as I write this and inside... well, inside there is that dull ache that threatens to shut me down completely.

Until I look at that tree.

Full of ornaments. Full of lights. Full of hope.

Loaded with memories.

Especially the one tucked underneath the branches.




Breathe, Santa.
Breathe deep.

Awkward Silence

I went to bed last night around midnight only to stare at the ceiling for the next five hours. During that time, I (mentally) wrote a (brilliant) blog post entitled Everything I Can Do You Can Do Better. It had just the right amount of humor mixed with just the right amount of truth to let you, the reader, know that I, like you, grow weary of people who always have done the exact same thing you have done, just with a little more drama involved.

It truly is exhausting.

Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on which side of the fence you sit on), I was not motivated in the least to actually get out of bed to put my thoughts to print. Instead, I perfected the grammar, tweaked a few punch lines, and rolled over while congratulating myself on a job well done. As the darkness of the room took on the gray tones of dawn, I drifted off to sleep only to dream about tornadoes and death for the second night in a row.

It's been tough around here, people.


(this is where the awkward silence comes in)


I honestly have nothing else to say.
Nothing inspirational. Nothing witty.

It'll hit me around three in the morning.


Except for this,


For my thoughts are not your thoughts, 
Neither are your ways My ways, says the Lord.

For as the heavens are higher than the earth,
So are My ways higher than your ways
And My thoughts higher than your thoughts.

For as the rain and snow come down from the heavens,
And return not there again, but water the earth
And make it bring forth and sprout...

So shall My word be that goes forth out of My mouth:
It shall not return to Me void (without producing any effect)
But it shall accomplish that which I please and purpose
And it shall prosper in the thing for which I sent it.

Isaiah 55: 8-11



I love it when He gets the last word. =)

Buck Up, America

I read things under the cloak of fair journalism that infuriate me.

Alleged this and alleged that. Small-town drama and small-minded gossip. People with nothing better to do than to sport a hidden recorder and stir up trouble... all while being a faithful church member, I'm sure.

I've had it with bitter people. Not just there, but here, too. Miserable people looking to make other people miserable. I mean really, where does it all end? Does a bad childhood give us a license to be a jerk? Does a bad marriage automatically result in a people-are-crap attitude?

And yes, I'll stop with that last less-than-polite remark.

Hollywood feeds us lies and people line up to buy tickets. Politicians promise us lies and people cast votes to bury us all. Religion spoons out enough lies in disguise to choke even the sincere.

I've been misled by movie stars.
Lied to by the government.
Disappointed in the church.

Who hasn't?

Buck up, America. Have each other's backs for once. Make small town living a place others would want to live. Give us a city life that doesn't make us paranoid from watching the nightly local news. Stand up for moral attitudes in the movie theaters and flush that other garbage down the proverbial toilet. Do what the Good Book says instead of just bashing each other over the head with it.

And for goodness sake, if you're gonna wear a recorder and attempt to incite a riot, well... don't. Take that negative energy and go fight evil or something. At the very least, bake a cake for your enemy (but no arsenic allowed).

Play nice, people.

Breathing Life To Dried-Up Bones

A joyful heart is good medicine, 

but a crushed spirit dries up the bones. 

Proverbs 17:22

I came home grumpy. Irritated.
Wanting to pop something with a BB gun.

And that's the mild version.

The husband put up with me for a while before he asked ,

What in the world is wrong with you?

I said I just wanted to hear some good news. Did he have any?

He had none. This is his week of no work. No work equals no pay. No pay presents unique challenges to paying the bills. Challenges to paying the bills creates a treasure hunt of sorts for things to sell on craigslist.

It's never a dull moment around here.

So anyway, he listened and more importantly, he understood my mood. We fired up the grill, made supper, and fed the kids. It was around that time that my phone rang. It was my dad.

We talked. He told me stories. I laughed. It was exactly what I needed. I repeated the same stories to the husband who (strangely enough) didn't laugh near as much as I did. He washed dishes. I dried. He asked me if I was all right. I looked him in the eye and said yes.

Somehow, in the midst of that unexpected laughter, I found hope.
In hope, I found peace. And in that peace, I found rest.

God's not finished with us yet.

Hey! Aren't You The Lady Who Called Me Names?

Recently I experienced what I like to call a full-circle moment.

A mother (who shall remain nameless) of a former student (who shall also remain nameless) and I happened to cross paths. After staring at me for a long, awkward minute, she said,

Aren't you Mrs. So-And-So?

That I am, I replied. I had to admit to myself that I had no clue who this woman was (it's been a while), so rather than play along and act like I had it all together, I asked her to help me out with her name.

She said her last name and my mind raced back into time.

A time when I was the unfortunate focus of a small group of mothers who evidently had too much time on their hands. A time when their teenage daughters complained of unfair treatment...

...and I'll pause here to clarify the unfair treatment dealt with obviously unimportant academic issues (sarcasm!) like plagiarism and unfinished homework and forged parent signatures...

But I digress.

For one horrible week, my character was assaulted and my name was whispered one too many times in the corridors of a school-

And once again, my mind wants to dredge it all up again.

Get to the point, right?

This mother from years gone by stood and chatted with me about kids and schools and life. She asked about my kids and I asked about hers and after a few minutes of small talk, we prepared to part ways. That's when she paused, turned back around, and this particular circle became complete.

She hugged me. Thanked me. And totally caught me off guard.

Beginning.
Middle.
Closure.

I love it when things come together.

What Do You Mean It's Not About Me?

Last week I troubled by something, and that is putting it lightly. I was upset, mad, and just plain aggravated by a turn of events that caught me by surprise. Already unsettled by the path I have been on, this unexpected news threatened to cause me to make an illegal u-turn and run as fast as I could in the opposite direction. I am so glad I stayed put.

I prayed and grumbled and prayed some more. I lost sleep. I ran out of words long before I ran out of tears. Even last night in a dark and silent house I pondered how in the world I was going to come to terms with the way things were unfolding. I told no one outside the walls of our home. I guess I figured the best thing to do was to stay in one place and stay silent. Today that silence was broken.

Would it make sense to you to say that I was at peace even before I had peace? That sounds crazy enough, but I'm fairly certain someone out there gets it. The thought occurred to me sometime today in the hours before noon. I looked up from what I was doing and realized I was at peace. Even though I didn't quite understand the directions I got from my internal GPS, I just felt that it was right. For once in my life I didn't jump on the nearest exit and wait for it to recalculate.

When His timing was at hand, I was presented with a choice. I knew my decision at once and it was far from what I would have predicted a year ago or even six months ago. Strangely enough, I chose to wait (and if you've read this blog for any length of time, then you know better than me the amount of whining you have read pertaining to me waiting. I am so, so sorry). But seriously, I just knew that was the right choice and you know what? I think that is where the peace came from... peace in the waiting. Maybe it was my acceptance of the fact that He has been waiting on.

So anyway, your peace may have just disappeared based on the confusion from this evening's post, but rest assured. Good things happen for those who wait.

I'm counting on it.

You May Not Think This Is Pretty, But I Sure Feel Better

May I ramble on for a bit?

...and if you know me in the real-life-kind-of-way, please don't bother making a mental note to ask me tonight or tomorrow or the next day what in the world this is all about...

Just let me ramble.

~*~*~Sheesh.  I've already deleted what I thought I wanted to write at least three times.~*~*

Let me try a different tactic.

My weekend was awesome. I love rainy days and March Madness and a husband who likes to look at shoes. I'll be the first to admit that I don't know much about this modern world or pop culture or what irks nineteen-year old boys, but I do know what I like (emphasis on the I).

And maybe I just now understood what it is I want to write.

Boy, this is gonna be selfish. Brace yourself.

I did not incur a massive student loan debt to please other people. Crazy, but true. I knew exactly what I was doing. I started out seeking a degree in elementary education when I mentioned to my husband about one semester in, "You know, I really don't want to do this psycho-questioning-how-a-state-thinks-you-ought-to-teach madness for four years."

"So do what you love," the man of the house answered back.

"I love to teach."  "So what do you love to teach?"  "History."  "So teach history."

I listened. I prayed. End of my life-changing discussion.

Off toward a history degree I went. That diploma now hangs on my wall. A job (in that field) is yet to be found.

How can that be?

How can I have such a burning desire to teach history, to talk about history, to do anything that has to do with history, and still be sitting here bemoaning the fact that as of right now, that diploma is absolutely useless to me?

Well, unless you count the fact that it was a MAJOR ACCOMPLISHMENT...

Anyway.

I am frustrated.

But I'm still proud.

I have mentioned before (on this blog) that graduating college is on my list of  25 Things To Do Before I Die. Apparently I should have added a number twenty-six: Gain employment that actually uses said degree.

I'm somewhat sorry you've been subjected to this ramble, especially if you were looking for something uplifting or comical. You might want to check out some of the other blogs listed on my page for content a little less me-related.

Lord, can I move back home yet? Just take me back ten years and let's go at this thing from another angle.

Seriously.

I am so not getting this plan of Yours.

For my thoughts are not your thoughts,

neither are your ways my ways, says the Lord.*

And there He goes again, reminding me of whose life this is anyhow.

Not mine. All His. Wait I will. I love when it He talks me out of my whining.

(Just please don't let Kansas make it to the Final Four. Please?)

And Amen.

*Isaiah 55:8-9

Timing IS Everything

Time (noun): A particular period or part of duration; a proper season; an opportunity.*

The Book of Esther in the Old Testament contains one of my favorite stories and one of my favorite people. What's not to love about a good Jewish girl who wins the ultimate of beauty contests? So what if the grand prize was a rather moody, fickle, and conceited man (my opinion only)... her testament of courage and faith outshines the infamous golden scepter of the king. I also admire the get-to-the-point kinda guy her Uncle Mordecai was:

Do not flatter yourself that you shall escape the king's palace any more than all the other Jews, chapter four and verse thirteen.**  In other words, Get over yourself, Esther (purely my translation).

Continuing on with verse fourteen: For if you keep silent at this time, relief and deliverance shall arise for the Jews from elsewhere, but you and your father's house will perish. And who knows but that you have come the kingdom for such a time as this and for this very occasion?

I go back to this story a lot because I think it's a great example of God's timing and plan. Just this afternoon I was thinking about some things that I shouldn't be thinking about (shocking, I know) and I decided the best way to readjust my way of thinking would be the Word of God. As I read through some of my favorites, my path crossed Esther more than once. I eventually closed my Bible and continued on with my day.

Coffee. Nap. Cats. Kids. Husband.

And that's when the issue of time came up.

Time as in,

We have to wait that long?
What are we gonna do 'till then?
But that's not part of our plan!

In the midst of the rising panic within me, however, a still and quiet voice spoke to my heart:

Have I let you down yet?

I kid you not when I say that in that very moment, the sweetest sense of peace rushed through my mind, my body, my spirit. The calm that took place was so immediate that I had to sit down, take a deep breath, and once again raise my white flag of surrender. Even so, I still can't make sense of this whole timing thing. On the outside, this latest setback is the last thing we need. But on the inside...

On the inside I know that I know without a shadow of a doubt one thing to be certain:
He has not let me down. His timing is everything. There is a proper season.
And He knew I would need to be reminded of Esther earlier today.


Thanks for the head's up. =)



*   Definition courtesy of my beloved 1892 Webster's High School Dictionary.
** Scripture Verses taken from my beloved duct-taped and well-worn Amplified Bible.

Things I Keep Inside

There are times I write because I need to and if you're not a writer, then you won't understand that. You may run because you need to; or shop because you need to; or eat that pan of brownies because you need to... okay, so we can all fall into more than one category on that one. Running? Not guilty. Everything else? Yes, yes, and yes. At any rate, there are times when I am so burdened, the only way out is to write. Yes, I keep a journal hidden by my bed, but that journal (spoiler alert!) is mostly empty. I don't know why I put things out there the way I do. I know I'm nothing special. I know it's not all about me. But I do know that I'm not alone in the things I struggle with. I'm a Christian, a daughter, a sister, a wife, a mom, a friend, a lover of cats. Shoot. If all that isn't enough ammunition for trouble then I don't know what would be. You don't know how many times I have written things here only to delete it as soon as the whole thing is close enough to grammatically perfect as it can be.

What will people think? My mom will worry. They'll really figure out I'm crazy.

Yeah... well, whatever (to use a grossly overused word of the last decade).

So, I guess I share because I know I'm not alone. Maybe you can relate. Maybe you can lie and say that you don't. Maybe you're a twenty-five year gigolo from Singapore who has no idea how he ended up on this website (bad example, I know). Whatever your thoughts, please know that I'm not looking for advice or sympathy or a number for the therapist who did wonders for your sister in-law.

I'm just being me.

And this is how I feel today.

~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~

I am overwhelmed.

My heart aches. It is too much to bear.

I am overwhelmed.

There's a physical pressure bearing down on me. If I sit still, my heart heaves up the sobs from within. If I move around, things get done but they're done in a fog. I'm really not sure what room I'm cleaning or why I'm there. I prepare a feast just to know that I've done something worthwhile.

We are drowning, the husband and I. Love does not conquer all; it certainly does not pay the bills. It does endure, however... that it does. We may be sinking, but we sink as one. There's a tragic Titanic-laced reference in that, I'm sure. We huddle together as the flood rushes in.

He looked at me today and simply said, "I wish we could just go back to what was normal." Then he dipped his head and kept the tears at bay. I know what he means. Five- no, six years ago, our lives were normal. He had his career; I had mine. We had the little white house minus the picket fence. Our biggest financial worry was a forty-thousand dollar mortgage.

And that's enough personal information.

Are we alone? Of course not. I stood at my dining room window today and looked out over a barren, January-drab landscape and told the Lord it was too much to bear. I wondered how many other haggard women and weary men and young people and old people have spoken those same words today. I wonder how many have simply given up.

The sun will surely rise tomorrow. Even now, a faint whisper of a flame struggles to break free of the smothering blanket that has rested upon my stubborn spirit this eighth day of January. This is why I write. And this why I prefaced this rather depressing glimpse into my life the way I did. It's not for everyone, but it is for someone. I'll hang in there if you will. The Lord tied that knot in the rope just for people like us. I have resolved to hang onto that knot until He pulls us out of this mess, but that doesn't mean I won't cry while I write sometimes.

Or eat brownies.



Hey... we all have our ways of dealing with life, remember?

What Church Is Not:

Rituals. Soundtracks. Outlines.


What Church Is:

A grown man taking his son in his arms, holding him, loving him, even after all that's been said. That same man bringing his other son into his embrace while the mother pulls the daughter up to complete the now crying, hugging, mushy group of a family. Holding his family tight and praying a prayer that I'm sure made  Jesus stand up and shout Glory!, I thought to myself,

This is church. Our living room. Silent except for sniffing. No audience. No outlines. No praise and worship band. An imperfect family seeking the wisdom of The Perfect One. A man who learned nothing from his earthly father leaning heavily on his Heavenly Father.

I gotta say, it was one of the most beautiful things I've ever experienced.



And with that, I've got to get ready for church. The building, that is.

My Thoughts On The Election, Steam Mops, and Those Eggs That Didn't Hatch

The Election.

Sheesh. Can I just say I'm glad it's over? My candidate of choice did not make it to the Oval Office and I have grave concerns about the man who currently sits in that seat, but... well, assuming all went according to design in terms of our electoral process, this is a democracy in which we live. I remember thinking Bill Clinton would usher in the end of the world with his second term. Granted, the current guy makes Bill Clinton look good to me, but hey... life and arguments and unemployment shall continue on.

Steam Mops.

There is something therapeutic about the steam of a plugged-in mop. Vacuuming and cleaning in general can help clear my mind, but when a dirty hardwood floor falls prey to steam and a good squirt of OrangeGLO for Hardwood Floors... well, let me just say that I feel rather accomplished right now. Oh, I know by the time the kids roll in and supper is finished and the nightly snack is consumed those floors will have lost the gleaming luster they hold at the moment, but for now, I am at peace.

Those Eggs That Didn't Hatch.

If you're lost on this one, back up to the last post (it had to do with cake, I believe). Whatever eggs I heard crackin' were not meant for me. I shut down on life-as-I-know-it for a good twenty-four hours, I guess. Even big girls need time to recover. Like the husband said, though, I'll do what I always do: Get Back Up. Probably the only ones who have a clue what the husband and I are going through (in terms of finances) are my parents and if they say I'll be all right, well then, I will be all right. Between them and God Almighty Himself, this thing can only end on a positive note.



Even another term of Barack Obama can't change that.

Fading October

Where has the month gone?

In a few short days, I'll get another paycheck.
In a few short days, I'll be back home with no paycheck.

My days go by something like this:

5:30 am.  The alarm goes off and I groan.
5:40 am.  The alarm goes off and I moan.
5:55 am.  Reality sets in.

I must get up.
I have to get up.
I am glad to get up.

8:00 am.  The kids are at school and I am where I need to be.
4:30 pm.  The kids are at home and I am not far behind them.

The front porch swing.
Good clothes still on; shoes are not.
Cup of coffee in hand. 

9:00 pm.  My day is done.

Supper is over. 
I have talked to everyone I want to talk to.
The nook battery is low.

The Lord and I discuss what the next month will bring- well, mainly I discuss it and He mostly stays silent. He sure is big on this trust thing. When the year first began, I remember thinking this will be the year everything changes. Now that the year is almost over, my thoughts are shifting towards THAT will be the year everything changes. And He is probably thinking will she ever get it?

Someday, Lord. Someday.

Define Slacker

My dearest daughter recently referred to me as a slacker for not blogging in over a week.

A slacker?
Quite possible.

I could say I've had nothing new to blog about, but that would not be completely true. I have been busy lately and have even had somewhat of a life. Last week, for instance, I traveled with a good friend to a part of the Midwest that was pretty close to my parents... so close, in fact, that they made a four-hour drive and rented a hotel room for a couple of nights just for the chance to see me. Talk about making a girl feel special.

I had a great time, too. Besides having the opportunity to shop a little with my mom and follow my dad's directions to a dive of a place to eat (inside joke), I got to spend some much-needed friend time with my... well, friend. We watched strangers in the airport and talked to strangers in the hotel and listened to strangers on the plane. We laughed and talked and napped on an airport couch for no good reason. Good times.

In the back of my mind, though, has been that last job interview I went on (remember the last post with my sharpie-corrected pants?). I have yet to hear anything which I am assuming most likely means another no thank-you. In addition, my main mode of transportation decided to take an unplanned siesta and is still sitting out-of-commission in my backyard. Thank goodness our back-up plan with over two-hundred thousand miles remains faithful.

Wait a minute. I wrote about car trouble in the last post, didn't I?
See what I mean? Things have been happening, but nothing has changed.

I really do feel like a slacker.

Good thing the NFL season kicks off tomorrow night. The referee situation may be questionable, but my place on the couch is not. Combine that with the return of Starbuck's pumpkin spice latte and my day to volunteer at the museum, and and the mid-week might bring hope yet.

Thanks, dearest daughter, for keeping tabs on your mother.

You are my inspiration.

Praise To A Lady Who Knew How To Wait

"Sometimes God digs a well of joy with a spade of sorrow."

Those words are courtesy of my grandma who was a prime example regarding the power of finding peace in God's timing. I had never heard of that saying until I was reading through her bible after she passed away. Written in pencil near the back cover,  I instantly memorized those words.

I was emailing my mom earlier telling her about my day so far.
It went something like this,

Van is messing up again.
Spilled fingernail polish on my good black pants.
Used a black sharpie on the above mentioned pants.

Went to a job interview.

I honestly don't know what will come of that interview, but it did originate from a call out of the blue. There have been times before when I was sure I had something and I didn't; this time around, I'm not so sure. Who knows? Maybe that's a good thing.

I mean, really... what are the odds of car trouble on your way to an interview in which you are wearing sharpie-doctored pants? What I can tell you is that I seriously just wanted to crawl back into bed and not come out again until it was time to pick the kids up from school, but I went.

I put on my game face and did the best I could.
That's what Grandma would've done.

Ha! Not the black sharpie part

She would have whipped up a new pair pants on her sewing machine...

I'm doing the best I can, Grandma. I promise.
Just don't look at my dirty windows and blinds.

I Could Die Happy

After I dropped the kids off at school this morning (the first day!), I headed to our local history museum to begin volunteer work. I figured that as long as I'm not working, I might as well break up the week by doing something that I enjoy and may I say,

I absolutely loved it.

Granted it was three hours of sitting in an isolated office by myself behind a computer screen, but hey... that is right up my alley. The project assigned to me, at least for today, dealt with a massive postcard collection. As I scanned pictures and entered data, I read the backs of cards I could somewhat decipher. The earliest card I saw had a postmark of 1906 and several were stamped during the world war years. Because our area has a military post, I read more than one that went along the lines of Don't bother to write me back because I will have already shipped out or I sure hope I get to see you one more time before I leave. I'm telling you, it's that kind of stuff that floats my boat. As I was finishing up (just for today; this project will take months), I found one from the 1960s that went something like the white people here are horrible which made me chuckle a bit. I'm guessing that person had a particularly bad day.

What struck me, though, was the thought that we all leave something behind. Like the 1906 card... over a hundred years old! Just think, somebody took the time to drop a line (and this one ended with Be a good girl) and there it was, in my hands, today! I still sit here and shake my head at that. There are times when I feel so insignificant or so whatever, and something as simple as a very outdated postcard causes me to pause and remind myself that even the littlest things can mean something later on. I don't know if that does much for you, but it sure inspired my morning.

Gosh, I love old stuff.

History Rocks.

Does The Mom Definition Include The Word RELAX?

Well, we got the youngest registered for her first year of high school, the middle all set for his junior year, and the mother has so far remained in one piece. Going to a small high school like I did (maybe 60-something in a graduating class), the size of the kids' school still manages to freak me out a little. The lockers number up into the thousands and the hallways remind me of a coastal southern town... apparently everything is set up in squares. The middle assures the youngest that she'll figure it all out in a matter of days, and the youngest assures me that I am more nervous than she is.

She's probably got a point.

It does seem kind of weird not involving the oldest in the back-to-school plans. The other night he took the other two for a ride and ice cream and as the front door shut on a quiet house, the husband asked, "Is this what we have to look forward to? What in the world are we going to do with ourselves?" He went back to the computer and I went back to my book. I'm guessing we'll keep doing what we always do. About an hour after the kids left, a storm began to blow in and I began to pace faster than the wind. I sat on the front porch watching the pine trees sway and wondered where in the world those kids were. The rain fizzled out and in they came. The husband's words? "Now mama can relax."

No rest for the weary.

And yesterday a tiddly piece of news drifted my way. On the scale of bigger things happening in the world, this would be considered nothing more than a speck of dust in the midst of the Sahara, but in my little corner of the universe, it was as ear-splitting as the proverbial clanging cymbal. I was reminded that God does indeed have a plan and that His plan makes a whole lot more sense than mine. If I would have had my way a few months back, then somebody else would have missed out. It just made me think of how much easier things would be if we all sought to stay within His plan. Of course, who am I to talk... I have enough trouble keeping my own feet planted.

Yep. It's been quite the week and it's only Wednesday.

Good things are on the way. =)

Not My Plan

(This post was originally written yesterday morning and saved as a draft

 so I could have time to think... never a bad idea on my part.)

Last night I lay in bed and contemplated giving it all up. Packing it in. Enough's enough. I am tired of opportunity ringing and doors slamming shut. It seems like I catch a glimpse of something that looks promising only to get smacked in the face with the sharp sting of reality.

Such is life.

This morning I decided I needed coffee first. I cannot seriously ponder the slow demise of my dreams on zero caffeine. Now, one cup later, I am forcing myself to take stock of what I do have. I'd go down the list, but it wouldn't be anything that we all wouldn't recognize. We know we've got it good.

As for me, I'll snap out of it. My heart knows this particular ache of disappointment well. Thank God my spirit knows the promise of hope. You want to know the irony of all this? My husband is officially back on a payroll. That's right. One year and exactly one day after learning he no longer had a steady paycheck, he now does.

And you're thinking,
Is this woman ever happy?
Yeah. Even I don't get me.

Except if it helps make sense of all this nonsense, then let me say this,

For My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways My ways, says the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways and My thoughts than your thoughts. (from Isaiah 55).

Okay. So technically I didn't say that, but you get the idea. I thought I was working it out, but once again, He proved to me that I am not the one in charge here. I suppose when you look at it that way, I am in pretty good hands. That helps ease my hurt ego.

Sheesh. One of these days I am going to learn to keep my apron on and stop chasing after jobs nine hundred miles away. Home for me will always be where my mom is, but home for my family will always be where I am. Such is the role of the mother.

I'm gonna go do some housework.
Maybe bake something. Definitely more coffee.
There is reason to celebrate. Enough gloom, right?

It never was my plan to begin with.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

So that was yesterday. This is today. I was much too busy for my pity party to continue. Besides, my daughter accused me of being selfish. Whatever. I made dinner, cleaned the kitchen, and tackled laundry. The husband hugged me and said he appreciates everything I do.

Flattery is a welcome thing around here.

OMG!!! You're Not Going To Believe This!!!

And so it would seem that I have to yet another fork in the road.  I'm asking all you prayer warriors out there to pray for direction and the way the Lord would lead.

I wrote the above words on Saturday as a facebook status. I kind of go in phases with facebook; sometimes I update a lot, sometimes I update hardly ever. I’m not the kind of status person that hopes to get a zillion and one comments wondering if I am okay.

Example:

If that ever happens again, I think I might die!!!

Great news today!!!

OMG!!! You’ll never guess what’s going on!!!

And so forth and on and on. If you’re not on facebook, you have no idea what I am talking about. If you are a frequent flyer, than you know all too well (and sorry in advance if one of the above is your most recent post. I promise I have not even been on there yet today except to copy and paste the opening statement, but... I do confess to shamelessly using the title of this post to grab your attention).

Anyway.

There are times when I reach out in the few ways I know how for some extra support. I’ve been struggling with some stuff… you name it… job searches, money woes, and general why am I even here type stuff. Depending on what day you catch me, I might be full of hope and cleaning supplies or full of despair and used kleenexes.

I came to that fork in the road last week. It was as clear before me just as if I was standing in the middle of a backwoods dusty road. I needed to make a decision or my indecision was going to drown me standing up. You ever been there? It’s an uncomfortable place to be. I would rather be moving in a solid direction than willingly give into the quicksand that threatens to squeeze the life out of me.

So I asked for prayer. I prayed. God moved. Well, technically, He moved me. No lightning bolts. No thunderous voice. Just a gentle, gentle push in my spirit that said, “This way.” So that way I went. I still don’t have a clue what lies along this way. Maybe it’s about a job. Maybe it’s about obedience. Maybe it’s about being prepared. I just hope it includes some kind of income.

Hey, I’m about as real as you can get.

After making my beginning steps this morning, I sat down to again search the scriptures. I wanted to find something that expressed how I am feeling; to be assured that I am not the only one with these up-and-down emotions. This chapter about said it all. I especially like how it came from David when he was hiding out in a cave.

Jesus. Son of David. Have mercy on me.

Psalm 142 Amplified Bible

A skillful song, or a didactic or reflective poem, of David;

 when he was in the cave. A Prayer.

¹ I cry to the Lord with my voice; with my voice to the Lord do I make supplication.

² I pour out my complaint before Him; I tell before Him my trouble.

³ When my spirit was overwhelmed and fainted [throwing all its weight] upon me, then You knew my path. In the way where I walk they have hidden a snare for me.

⁴ Look on the right hand [the point of attack] and see; for there is no man who knows me [to appear for me]. Refuge has failed me and I have no way to flee; no man cares for my life or my welfare.

⁵ I cried to You, O Lord; I said, You are my refuge, my portion in the land of the living.

⁶ Attend to my loud cry, for I am brought very low; deliver me from my persecutors, for they are stronger than I.

⁷ Bring my life out of prison, that I may confess, praise, and give thanks to Your name; the righteous will surround me and crown themselves because of me, for You will deal bountifully with me.