That God…He’s so funny sometimes. Like when we pray for something and He lets us find it by giving us the exact opposite. Ever had that happen???
I’ve been praying for peace lately. I haven’t had much. It seems like everywhere I turn I find chaos and conflict – my two least favorite things. So I keep praying for peace, and what does God do? He scares me half to death. There’s nothing quite like a good possibility of your worst fear becoming reality to put things into perspective. For the past few days I’ve been focused on that possibility and the other stuff has become obviously insignificant. Then yesterday I find out that I don’t have to worry for now. I felt this enormous sense of relief. I slept last night – for the first time in a few nights – and kept sleeping until late this morning. After I’d been up for a while it hit me. I have peace. The scare made me realize what was really important – and what wasn’t. And even after the scare isn’t a scare anymore, the other things have still ceased to matter as much. Peace. From fear. Only God could be that smart.
Then, as if He hasn’t already impressed me enough, I flip to my daily scripture verse in the kitchen and it’s none other than John 14:27 “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.” I can almost see Him winking.
My husband said to me very matter-of-factly last night, “You’ve really been on an emotional roller coaster the past few weeks haven’t you?” Uh…yeah. And today has been a day of conflicting emotions too.
My day began by taking Ethan to get a haircut. It’s a really good one and he looks all grown up now. He’s quickly turning into an almost teenager and for some reason it’s taking me by surprise. I think I thought he’d always be a little boy. So every time I’ve looked at him with his new “do” today, I’ve felt both sadness for the little boy he almost isn’t and a mix of pride & fear for the little man he’s becoming.
Next we checked in 4H projects. This always takes me back to my childhood (largely because the process hasn’t changed ONE BIT in 30 years!!!! Arghh!!!!!!!). I was a 4Her. My mom made sure of it. It was a big deal for us and consumed our summer. I remember the excitement of driving into town to see how we placed. I scored big on crocheted pot-holders and a cake that looked like a train – two of my finest moments. Ethan only took two projects this year. We’ll see his placings tomorrow night. It isn’t such a big deal to him, but for today at least it brought back some memories for me. Maybe he’s making some too.
The rest of my morning was spent cleaning the house with my husband, which although it might sound dreadful, was actually very peaceful and fulfilling. Trust me – a joint cleaning effort doesn’t happen often, and it just made me appreciate every little thing I was dusting or mopping a little more. All of these things are after fifteen years of marriage, not just his or mine, but ours. They’re a representation of our years together. It’s easy to miss the significance of that when I’m just going through the cleaning motions on my own from week to week.
And then tonight – the pinnacle. Ethan and I picked green beans together out of “his” garden. This garden has been such a big deal to him since as far back as Christmas. The bean crop is a good one. They’re just beginning and we picked quite a few. In the same way I feel connected to my mom in a mushroom woods, I also feel connected in the garden. While I straddled the bean row with my butt in the air, my mind flashed back to the endless summer mornings when I’d wander sleepily into the kitchen and watch Mom through the window doing the same thing. A bushel basket of beans to be snapped usually followed. Ethan couldn’t wait to snap these. I snipped the ends – always my mom’s job – and he broke them. My role has officially shifted.
So at the same time I’m filled with joy while watching Ethan live out his dream of a garden, I’m filled with deep sadness that my mom can’t watch him too. I’m sad that he can’t know her and learn from her. I’m angry at the stupid disease that took her life when she was only a few years older than I am now. I want to know so much more about her. I want to know how she felt at age 37. Was she just coming into herself? Was she just finally hitting her stride? Was she learning to appreciate the little things and digging deeper inside herself to realize the bigger ones? Had she started to love the life she was given just months before it was stolen away from her? I should be able to ask her these things. I should be able to pick up my phone and call her! I should be able to sit on the kitchen floor between her and MY son and snap beans and I can’t and I’m mad about it. She was only 43. How does that make sense? I know the Sunday School answers and I know the Scriptures and in certain moments they help. But there are other moments that I’m just the mom of an almost teenager, the wife of a wonderful man, a scared little girl wrapped up in a 37 year old body and I just flat out need my mom. I know we aren’t supposed to need all the answers, but it helps sometimes to scream out the questions as if we might get them.
Ethan is sleeping. The beans are in the fridge. It’s peaceful and my house smells clean. I should be happy and instead I’m sitting at the computer choking back tears. I think this day of conflicting emotions has run it’s course.
I have a bit of a problem. Some would call it obsessive/compulsive, and they might be right. I cannot tolerate things on a wall that are crooked. It drives me insane. Pictures have to be level. Shelves must be level. I will be uneasy and preoccupied in a room with crookedness until it is straightened. Take for instance a recent visit to my doctor. You know that awful moment where you’re waiting in the room for the doctor to come in? (Stay with me on this one…) Well, as I was waiting I was staring at a picture that was just a hair off level. I tried. I really did. I told myself it didn’t matter. I looked out the window. I strained to read my chart on the computer screen. I swung my feet really fast. And then I jumped off the table and straightened it. Ahhh….much better.
I used to work with a guy who had a picture in his office that was constantly crooked. The first thing I did every time I walked in his office was straighten it. He didn’t mind. I’ve been known to be in the middle of a conversation with someone and interrupt it for a second so I can move the picture over their head. Oh…and I got this brilliant idea a few years ago to hang a collection of photos in my office as a group. Well, if one picture is off, they all are. The vertical lines get messed up – not just the horizontal ones. It’s awful. The first thing I do every morning is straighten those blasted pictures.
The funny thing is I never use a level. My husband does, but I don’t trust it. Our house is old and IT is crooked, so anything bubble level doesn’t look straight.
I suppose I could draw a parallel (and it would have to be parallel or else it would be crooked…) between this obsession and how I approach the rest of my life. It’s probably obvious. I like things to be in order, but I prefer to consider the circumstances to determine what that needs to look like. I also have a tough time letting things go. I probably need to work on that.
I am taking baby steps. As I type, my computer screen is not quite parallel with the shelf above it due the the slightly sloping floor in my den. I’ve lived with this little issue for almost six months now and still haven’t shimmed up my desk. Maybe there is hope for me yet.
That God…He’s so funny sometimes. Like when we pray for something and He lets us find it by giving us the exact opposite. Ever had that happen???
My husband said to me very matter-of-factly last night, “You’ve really been on an emotional roller coaster the past few weeks haven’t you?” Uh…yeah. And today has been a day of conflicting emotions too.
I have a bit of a problem. Some would call it obsessive/compulsive, and they might be right. I cannot tolerate things on a wall that are crooked. It drives me insane. Pictures have to be level. Shelves must be level. I will be uneasy and preoccupied in a room with crookedness until it is straightened. Take for instance a recent visit to my doctor. You know that awful moment where you’re waiting in the room for the doctor to come in? (Stay with me on this one…) Well, as I was waiting I was staring at a picture that was just a hair off level. I tried. I really did. I told myself it didn’t matter. I looked out the window. I strained to read my chart on the computer screen. I swung my feet really fast. And then I jumped off the table and straightened it. Ahhh….much better.