on cars and busses

This weekend i went to Philadelphia to stay with Xh. and her husband, and see V. and her family. These two women were the other two "muskateers" in college, and remain two of my absolute closest friends. Thank God the visit went very well, and was very fun! V's kids are almost painfully cute, and both ladies married splendidly Godly, kind, and geeky men. On Sunday afternoon/evening Xh. suggested the book Lafcadio during a reading session. Now one website states that the book has 112 pages. That night we read the-entire-book, with only a break for dinner. i put the effort in to try and read it somewhat well as well, with inflection, song, voices, etc. By the end i was actually getting kind of light headed, yet we persevered through. Why, you may ask? Because when you have a 5 and a half year old and an almost 3 year old cuddled on next to you on the couch, it's easy to keep reading. When that 5 and a half year old brings the book to the dinner table where you're still sitting, reminding you that you agreed to read more after dinner it is difficult to say no. After all, what's a short spurt of light headedness when compared to an hour or so of childish delight?

The last time i went to Philadelphia was to see a British friend, S., who had purposefully scheduled a layover in that city into her trip so we could reunite. Xh. met us there, very kindly. That time, i was planning to take the bus in, but at the last minute a friend offered to ride with me, as she wished to visit her daughter anyway. That trip turned into- well it's a long story but the short version is that it turned into one of those trips where you say, "if we survive this we will have a great story". There actually was concern about surviving it at one point. P's foot apparently slipped off of the accelerator and onto the brakes while crossing a road. This stopped us in-the-road-in-front-of-an-oncoming-dump-truck-in-an-old-car-without-side-airbags. i was on the side facing the truck. Only God's grace got us through. While we may discuss the trip here someday in more detail, the part pertinent to this post is that after that the decision to take the bus next time seemed somewhat logical.

However, this weekend i decided to bus it, and was delayed for hours due to confusion, etc.

Thank God by the way that i was able to drive through the tunnel during the earlier trip!! That's a big step for me.

mayhaps more to come.

Today was Thanksgiving, and it feels like a good time for a post. This morning in the shower (because, you know, the best thinking occurs in the shower) i was thinking about my life. Let me tell you, my life is not necessarily where i thought it would be. However, in so many ways it is so much better.

God has blessed me so much with a family to love. He's given me purpose. He's given me a job with meaning doing work that i really kind of enjoy. He's given me a corner office, where i can be eccentric and weird and no one really cares as long as my work gets done. (That's kind of been a daydream of mine.) He's given me a dog and two cats, a house, membership on a board, great friends. He's given me elderly relatives to love. He's given me the golden years of their lives, the knowledge that some day if i'm looking back on my life i can say that i was there. He's given me a church family. He's given me a measure of contentment in my singleness. If He never gives me a helpmate, He's given me the assurance that He is there for me. He's given me an idea of the things being single could free me to do, and yet the lingering possibility that it may go the other way and that could be good too. He's given me a decided settling of the tumult that has been my emotions and mindset in the past.

He's given me love. He's given me hope. He's given me faith. He's given me salvation. He's given me life. He's given me contentment. He's given me protection. He's given me health. He's given me forgiveness. He's given me mercy. He's given me guidance. He's given me Help. He's given me a Rock to lean upon. He's given me everything.

Happy Thanksgiving God. Thank You for well absolutely everything, really!!

A not-entirely unusual moment

In this family we're weird, but in my opinion it's wonderful. Take what occurred earlier (it went something like this):

Momma started going through Bubs' wallet. This was bothering him quite a bit. The wallet, like the i-phone and the macbook are items which he is particularly careful of. As his frustration and fear rose, momma continued to take items out of the wallet. Personally, i think she was kind of amusing herself with his distress. Still, it was beginning to become one of those interactions which can quickly take the mood of the moment south.

So i took pity on him and grabbed the cards from her.

"Momma, you have to put those down."

"Why?"

"Because bubs' is getting all Asberger's about it."

i once rifled through my DSM diagnosing bubs. Ever since i read him the characteristics of Aspergers, he has occasionally decided that he has it. This is not written with any disrespect toward people who do have it. I was very close with one of my youth group kids with this condition. The comment, however, was enough to break bubs out of his bad mood, and he kind of smiled.

"I thought you said I didn't have it." (After originally reading him the criteria, I have told him that I don't really think he has it. That's true as well.

"Momma's mad at you," at this point she was pointing the remote at him and pushing buttons, clearly enjoying herself immensely.

"Obviously, she's trying to turn me off."

She's been doing this lately, carrying around the remote control and using it as a life control. It's quite frankly adorable.

Apparently today while she and bubs were taking a car ride (giving me time to work on a grant from home) he was telling her that the remote would not work on anything in the car. It just so happened though that she pushed the button when Pandora came on. She proceeded then to continue using the remote to control things. It made her very happy, i think.

The best in my opinion is still when she uses it to control us.

Thank God, yet once again for, for my family, as crazy as we are.

oh sandy

So the east coast is currently in the grips of Hurricane Tropical Storm Cold Storm Sandy. Thank God we are doing quite well actually. There's still power here, and the wind and rain is not terribly bad. The girl we "adopted" into our family some years ago has called to check on us, and offered to send a rescue helicopter (or camel). Currently, she's chatting with momma, and the conversation is adorable, as momma says her cards aloud. Solitaire, as always, is a huge blessing of God, in the cognition and amusement of our most beloved momma bear.

The last few days have been a flurry of storm preparation off and on. Actually, that's not entirely true as yesterday was Sunday and mostly i rested and did church. However, Saturday involved buying groceries, buying lights, doing laundry, and finding batteries. Today, after work (which ended at noon), i ran around and tried to secure items which might possibly have blown away, or had neighbors shooting us dirty looks. Also, i asked mom to shower (more complicated than it might sound) and baked two boxes of muffins (a competitor for momma's favorite food).

i told a friend that i would rather be paranoid and prepared, then caught unawares. Even if, as would be wonderful, there is no extended power outage, or serious wind and rain here, i thank God i was able to prepare.

i want to try now not to complain, regardless of what might happen. Even if the power does go out and stay out, i would like not to complain. So many others are going through so much more. Prayer would be a good hobby for us, directed toward those in need.

Random Thoughts

Why does bear worry about using toilet paper and paper towels (which are super cheap), but not worry about using other things to wipe her hands with, which are decidedly more expensive, after all.

Praise God!! Momma's finished physical therapy, but they gave us an amazing present today. Since her Medicare wouldn't cover it, they forgave us the co-pays. That was $25 a session, for three sessions a week, for probably 4 or 5 weeks.

God was good to me tonight, when i was kind of down and pitying myself. (He's good to me all the time of course.) While walking around internally moping, my dog sat there just calmly. After petting him once, it occurred to me that God could use him to cheer me up.

Thank God i've been getting up and to work close to on time a lot lately. This means perhaps less sleep. It also means an easier time getting hours in. God is good all the time. All the time God is good.

On why physical therapists are da bomb

Speaking of "da bomb", kids don't say that anymore do they?

It's like a recent Friday night, where bubs and i took our 16 year old niece and 13 year cousin bowling.

Afterward, i referred to something as "sketchtastic". By their teenaged reactions, i gathered that this particular term was no longer "hip".

Laughing it off mostly, i turned shortly thereafter for solace to the Facebook community. i threw it out to my friends, asking them to back me up on the coolness of this word.

No one responded that they had even ever heard of it.

Sigh.

But i digress.

The bear (a derivative of momma-bear, bub's nickname for her) has begun physical therapy.

Thank and praise God for physical therapy!!

It was a suggestion by her doctor after protracted periods of complaining about pain.

See momma has degenerative disc disease, or arthritis, or whatever you want to call it, in her neck. This has led to neck and back pain.

Yet her doctor told us there was really no way to treat it except to a.) medicate for the pain and b.) have surgery.

Surgery is something i do not want to put momma (or us) through if it's not really important.

The doctor agreed with not putting her through surgery.

So the back thing is something we've been dealing with for at least a few years now. At mom's last appointment, when i broached the subject the doctor said the soothing words.

Physical therapy.

i was dubious at first. i took her the first day, and watched the young therapist like a hawk. i fretted over the way he was manhandling her head and neck. i asked questions about risks to her while trying not to seem like i was rudely questioning his expertise. i made certain to point out to him that she was breakable. i seriously considered asking the receptionist if this therapist was really good at his job, after he admitted to me that this was his first job after his graduation last spring. i mentally wondered if there was a way to request the other therapist without causing offense.

It's been nearly two full weeks later however, and i've relaxed a lot. The practice we are taking her too is close. The two therapists and the receptionist are superbly kind to momma, joking with her and rolling with inappropriate questions and repeated reminders of certain items. The therapist did undergo seven years of schooling, even if this is his first job (my sister reminded me). They are accommodating of her- after one session where she was fretful and freezing they began putting heating pads on her prior to working with her. There are various reasons why i'm grateful for physical therapy, and this practice in particular.

The thing is that it appears to be working. There seems to be an observable decrease in pain complaints.

God is good and cares even about the little things.

On car care conundrums

(Note: i think i've finally figured out how to get spaces back in, thank God!- thanks for your patience with the never ending paragraphs.)

Mom likes sitting in the car. She has for years actually. Even when i was younger, i remember running the portable phone out to the car where she was sitting and hanging out. She enjoys watching the world go by, enjoys reading the newspaper, enjoys doing her word puzzles, enjoys being out of the house (even if it's just in the driveway).

Mom likes being in the car.

So when we travel places, we sometimes leave her in the car. Sometimes she asks to be in the car ("i don't have to go in, do i?") and sometimes we encourage it for the sake of ease or expediency. Like today, when i went to straighten out my phone issue at a store, and we left her in the car, with her paper word puzzle, and a pen, and a water, and a muffin.

Keep in mind that she likes being in the car. Sometimes she will sit in front of the house. Sometimes she will ask to sit in the car in front of the house. Sometimes she will stay in the car after rides.

Bubs and our cousin ran out and checked on her part way through the store trip.

She was fine.

However when we left she was standing in the parking lot out of the car, and i felt awful.

Normally, leaving her in the car is completely fine with her. Sometimes it's really what she prefers.

Sometimes like today though it doesn't work out so well.

So this is an asking God for forgiveness moment, and a moment of feeling guilty.

In the future i guess we will now focus on either having someone with her or checking on her with increased frequency.

It's just one of those weird decisions you make. It's just one of those fine lines you tread.

Thank God all turned out well in the end!!

It's OC without the D

Here's an excerpt of a post i wrote a while ago in my last blog. Just looking through it i decided to cross post it. The other thing that training, and some things I've undergone in my life has done however is to change my view on mental health. If I ever did feel called into mental health, I think it might be to advocate for this realization. Which brings me back to my conversation with my brother. "You have to admit kid that you're obsessive." "Yes, I'm OC. I won't argue with that. What I'll argue with is the D part. I'm not OCD." When did we turn personality quirks, or even mental health peculiarities, into illnesses and disabilities? Yes, I'm obsessive compulsive. The older I get, the more I can recognize this. Most people don't even realize how obsessive I can be. I do sometimes count or do things in rhythms to relax away from an intrusive fear. I turn casually away from fast food counters, because if I see them touch my food in an unhygienic way I won't be able to eat it. I handle the decorations at every youth group dinner, because if I am in the kitchen with the kids I will drive all of us crazy asking them to rewash their hands each time they touch their phones, shirts, hats, or pants. I think underwear are dirty, and will neither sit on my bed in them or wear a skirt without shorts under it. I'm obsessive compulsive, but I wouldn't diagnose myself or anyone like me with obsessive compulsive disorder. In order to receive a diagnosis of a mental health condition you need to meet DSM criteria. In the criteria for basically every disorder is the requirement that the symptoms be "clinically significant". In other words, that they disrupt your daily functioning. I would say [with God's help of course (thanks God)] that I function just fine. I hold down two jobs. I'm a certified secondary English instructor and a licensed social worker. I have friends, and help out my family. I hold leadership roles in my church. While this isn't the case currently, I have had romantic interests in my life. I'm obsessive, I'm eccentric, I'm anxious, I'm me. I'm not broken, so there's no need to fix me. God made me this way, and gives me the skills and abilities to live it. I'm using myself as an example, but I want to apply it to society. It's part of why I don't want anxiety medication, though it was even prescribed once. I think we have built up a society which tells people that if you aren't normal, if you have a mental "illness" you must be medicated to become normal. Why can't we instead just embrace them, and say "You're beautiful as you are. Now, if the anxiety ever gets to the point where it bothers you, what coping skills can we practice?" I used to be part of "an online support community". I remember reading a post about someone who said they had been put on medicine (maybe for bipolar disorder) but gone off it because they lost the ability to play the beautiful music they loved. This person felt numb or lost in a fog. He (or she), if I remember correctly, stopped the medicine and learned to deal with it. You see it all over. We encourage kids to embrace who they are, unless they deviate mentally. If a child is hyper he's got ADHD and needs Ritalin. If she's thinks her life is awful she's depressed, give her Prozac. If she's worried about her friends she must have an anxiety disorder, prescribe Atavan. If he's depressed and anxious both, he must be bipolar and should be given Abilify. If your child has asthma, you show her how to live with asthma. You coach her in identifying triggers, and dealing with crises. If your child struggles with sadness you label her and medicate her. She becomes depression. Now let me clarify one thing. This theory of mine is not absolute. I do realize that there are conditions which are clinically significant, which do interfere with daily functioning. I give mom Namenda twice a day for her mental (and physical) illness. When a beloved relative was so depressed he was borderline suicidal, I encouraged him to seek a doctor and maybe medication. If your child has uncontrollable manic episodes which cause her to endanger her safety, by all means look into Abilify. When mental illness is impairing your ability to function and therapy or medicine fills the gap between life and half-life, I fully advocate it. This is just too overused, in my opinion. Let's, instead of telling people they are broken and prescribing a course of repair, help them embrace who they are and prescribe a dose of self-awareness and regulation. If you're oc, don't watch them prepare your food. If driving stress incites panic attacks, leave plenty of time and take the back way. Let's un-disorder mental disorders. Let's empower the "sick" to embrace their "well". Let's be who God made us. Let's remember that He's the best medicine. Let's just be.

Spider Solitaire

*Momma really loves solitaire. She has for years, and she's very good at it. I encourage her to play it, both (i just returned from helping her reboot the computer) because it is cognitively stimulating, and because it keeps her occupied. (Back from another trip to the computer, this time because a word bubble popped up.) She has her own computer- sort of. One day she tripped over my old laptop, and the screen internally shattered. This made it not very practical as a laptop for me, especially so far as my newspaper work was concerned. However, once it was hooked up to an old monitor we had, it made the perfect momma's solitaire computer. Thank God for Frankenstein electronics (and all)!! *Momma has begun spelling things of late. Random words, and not words get spelled or sung. She'll ask me about the afterword, like "right m?" Sometimes i try to figure out what she's spelling. Sometimes i try to correct her spelling. Sometimes i simply agree with her. i think that at least sometimes there's inherent meaning in the letters, even if they seemingly represent gibberish. Like tonight she was not particularly happy about something i said, and suddenly said "m-a-s-h". Somehow, i think i was sassed or insulted. At the very least it was an expression of displeasure. Still, i plan on calling her doctor to make sure we shouldn't be worried about the change.

It may be time.....

I'm fairly certain that I haven't posted about mom's latest trip to the hospital yet. There are likely a few reasons for this: 1.)I've posted very little about anything lately, and 2.)It is much easier to post about silly, flippant things than about the in depth things tied in to emotion. Still, I'm endeavoring once again to try and post more regularly. This is big news too, so it's likely a good thing to write about. So we started mom on Razydyne. Twice, actually. We've taken mom back off Razydyne. Twice actually. The first time we put her on it (both times actually but it was less scary the second time) she complained of her chest feeling funny about two days in. The day after she began it she complained of chest pain, but bubs figured that it was gas. The next morning she was sitting on her bed saying she felt funny, and pointing to her chest when he asked where. (Do you know the stress by the way, of trying to figure out if someone is sick enough to worry over, when that someone has trouble verbalizing pain and feelings, and often complains of pain regularly.) That afternoon, when he told me she was complaining of her arm hurting, (at some point he told me it was numb as well) I called the doctor, who told me essentially to take her to the closest emergency room. So he drove her to the hospital, and i drove myself to meet them, on rural windy roads, probably faster than i ought. The nursing staff at one of our two county hospitals are wonderful. The one put us in an empty room with chairs and a television, while we waited for the doctor. She thought it might be easier for mom than lying on the bed in the emergency room. Another printed out word finds for her to do, when we mentioned that she loved them. In fact, the entire experience was going really well (so far as an er visit goes) until about the time the doctor walked in. At about that time momma had had it. Her arm was still hurting her very badly, and she was reaching her limit of patience. So when the dr. came in, he had a foreign name and she started mimicking his accent. She wasn't being out of control, she wasn't screaming or running, she wasn't throwing anything or hitting him, she wasn't swearing at him or threatening him, she was simply repeating his name over and over in a mimicked accent. It was rude of her to make fun of him that way, but in her defense she was in a hospital in what was obviously somewhat severe pain after waiting for a while and she. had. had. enough. Given that and her medical condition, i would actually say she was comporting herself rather well. We told her to stop, but the doctor waved us off, leading me to think that perhaps he was understanding. He stopped examining her, and this is where he annoyed me. First, he asked me if we had ever had her worked up for dementia. Now, he could have meant a formal workup, but there is a certain amount of temptation attached to that question to reply thus: "No, you mean she might have dementia? That never occurred to me." Instead, i responded that yes we had taken her to a neurologist, and that was why she was on Namenda (or something like that). He had diagnosed her with Alzheimers. Here he went off on a tangent, how he was a geriatrician and thought she had frontotemporal lobe dementia due to her behavior. He kept harping on the behavior issue, on the fact that there were behavior issues with that type of dementia. And.then.he.offered.me.antipsychotics. If you haven't been reading these blogs right along you may not know my soapbox on antipsychotics. So let me try to only speak on this briefly. Let me get this straight, i know you mean well doctor and i appreciate you telling me that there is nothing serious with my mom, but you are suggesting to me that i give my mother an anti-psychotic, when such drugs have an fda black box warning due to being contraindicated for elderly patients with dementia, due to an increased risk of death, so you are offering me a potentially dangerous drug, to control behavior problems, which were not bad in front of you, and which i had not complained about. Also, he never told me what was wrong with her. Here's the blessing to the story. When i later took her to her doctor (whom i love and whose nursing staff i love) i told her this story. She responded that we knew mom had frontotemporal lobe dementia. (This i hadn't known.) However, this, according to her description, is treated the same way, but declines slower. So this was a really long way of saying that mom doesn't have alzheimers. This is good news. Praise God for good news!!

I have decided to start living on the point system. See, I find myself thinking of all the ways I am deficient. My house is a mess. My finances are far from perfect. My dog has fleas (and sleeps with me). My cats have fleas (and let me know when their litter is too dirty for their taste by making the by the sink their new litter). I oversleep, and fall asleep too early. I daydream on the way to work and suddenly realize I don't really remember the last stretch of road (only did that yesterday actually). My roof just lost several shingles, and they're still sitting in front of my house (a roofer is scheduled, but not until later in the fall/early winter). By some metrics I'm a mess. However, rather than focusing so on the failures I've decided to give credit for the little victories. How many women fail to do this, fail to give themselves credit for the hundred little accomplishments every day? How many of us wander through life trying to meet benchmarks that we or society set for ourselves, and feeling guilty when we don't? I say it's time we implement a point system. So every time I get up early enough to do my devotions, get dressed, and arrive at work on time, at 7 am (is) that's a point. There's a bonus point for actually being completely dressed before arriving at the office (this means not doing my hair or buttoning my clothes when I get there). Every time mom and I both get our teeth brushed, there's two points. It's a point for staying awake long enough to get her all ready for bed and giving her her medicine, without crashing and then waking back up. Bonus points (2) given if the entire bedtime routine is complete (clothes changed, teeth brushed, prayers said, tv programmed to go off). If the litter gets changed, that is totally worth a point. If any kind of housework is done- there's a point. This includes picking up all the garbage left on the kitchen table through the day. This also includes yard work (today I pulled weeds, as my yard could probably have put in a bid as the set of Terra Nova a year or so ago). A point goes for walking the dog. A point for updating this blog. A point for working on my novel. Two points for getting my newspaper articles in by the night before deadline. Now I probably won't actually live by this point system. Even if I did, I know that the points wouldn't really be any credit to me- it would be (and all that I do is) God's grace. (Thanks God! Praise God!). However, it does make me feel a little bit better to think about the little victories. We women do a lot. Maybe we should stop feeling so guilty for the stuff we don't.

The crazy idea edition.....

So several years ago i fell in love. The kind of mad, crazy love that makes you impulsively consider doing things you never thought you would- that was totally me. You toy with marriage, even if it wouldn't be right. You entertain leaps into the unknown which are definitively at odds with logic, practicality, ethics, and finances. You joke, with just a small part of you being serious, about the illegal activities which might remove the barriers keeping you apart. (Or is this just me?)

Of course such love fades over time with distance- it almost has to. It isn't healthy to maintain that level of fervor for long, especially when the situation just doesn't work out Still a smaller, more subdued version of the emotion lingers, where that person burrowed deeply into your heart.



He's eight (nine?) now. When I left he was two. Right before I left he pushed himself to his knees for the first time, and I took it as my going away present. He had cerebral palsy, and for the year and a half I was over there I worked with him closely assisting the nurse with play therapy at the group home in which he lived.



The love was not unrequited. i smile to remember one day when one of the caregivers came up the stairs to tell me that he was screaming, and would calm down for no one. When he saw me he grinned and the crying ceased as if on cue. This may have been more to get him upstairs than to see me, but i like to fancy i had something to do with it.



Of course at the time he was not adoptable. i was 26, had never held a "real" job, was single, and contrary to popular belief living on support is not as lucrative a proposition as people assume, as missionaries often come home more poor than they were when they left (unless there's a secret to church support no one has told me). Still, i joked about taking him home. The caregivers told me to do it; his grandmother would have encouraged it i believe.



For a time thereafter, i thought about it. Someday, i told myself i might adopt him. Reality set in fairly quickly however. Could i handle a special needs child? What if he became a life-long care case? Where was my income?



i hit re-entry shock pretty hard. i entered graduate school very shortly after returning. i inherited by default a home full deterioration and necessary repairs. i struggled to find a job. i became a caregiver.



i began talking to people i knew about adopting him, figuring they would be better caregivers than i anyway but i could still be a part of his life. i cringed at the slightest hint that he was being adopted by someone else, despite being happy at the thought.



Distance bred emotional distance, and i didn't care quite as much anymore.



Then a friend decided they would prayerfully think of adopting him.
Then they became pregnant and unable to pursue the adoption at this time, if ever. The pregnancy is wonderful news, and the fall through totally God's will.



It's reopened some of those crazy thoughts however.



i'm very nearly 33 now. i'm still completely single. Now, however, i have a full-time job with really good benefits at the most family friendly non-profit i could imagine. i still own a deteriorating house, but we're making progress. i'm still a caregiver.



Sometimes, though, i daydream about caregiving for two. Sometimes i know full well that i couldn't take on any more; sometimes feel woefully unequipped for what i have on my plate. There are other times, though, when i wonder if i could do it, if i could at the very least do medical sponsorship.



Don't worry anyone who reads this though- i do know it's a crazy idea.; What's life though if you can't entertain insanity at least a little bit though, at least in your daydreams.

On the fine art of multitasking

Is it wrong to blog while talking with my sister on the phone? i have a list of things which, in my mind, i want to get done, sometimes. Tonight, it included a blog post. Having my sister call derailed my clever scheme, however, so I am trying to multitask now. She is fishing a bit to move back home, I think. She does this on a regular basis. Currently, she is living in my car again. It makes me feel badly for not allowing her to move back in, to a certain extent. Is it wrong to not want to add the chaos to my life which inviting her home would cause?

and she said baby, it's three am and

It's after midnight and i'm still awake. See, mom and my brother have adopted a sort of second/third shift schedule at times. Now sometimes this works with me falling asleep early, and often. However at other times it results in nights like tonight, where i find myself yelling back and forth to mom upstairs (and remembering my plan to someday put an intercom system in) as she frets over something before bed. This evening the something in question is her bare arms. She's wearing a t-shirt, and has a fleecy throw. However she is convinced that she will be freezing if she doesn't have long sleeves on. On the other hand i worry that if she does she will be too warm (aside from my selfish desire to stay in bed). At times i do what i've just done, ask bubs to please take over in the conversation so i can go to bed (my current work schedule, though flexible thank and praise God (for all!)! has me arriving at work 20 minutes or so away for 7 am. it doesn't often occur actually.). Sometimes at times like this she will in time calm down, and either fall asleep or at least lie still. In other cases it will bother her so much that she gets up and comes downstairs. Well, tonight's topic of dissent appears to have been resolved- mom may have just added a blanket. As bubs points out, a blanket can at least be kicked off in her sleep if she gets too warm and is thus preferable to long sleeves. That being said i think i'll log off now and go to bed. Lord willing morning will come early. :) Night all.

On busyness and the letdown......

Thank and praise God!! it's been a fairly productive day today. Thank and praise God!! it's now just about time to relax with my family (perhaps separately but together). Tomorrow is Sunday one of my favorite days (perhaps my favorite day of the week). It's church day for one- Lord willing here's the way the day generally goes. i will go first to Sunday school with my wonderful girls (and the odd boyfriend/boy friend). Then we will have church- we're in the middle of a missions campaign, which is fun, and our new pastor will speak. He's very nice- not only is he hoping to fix our electric for us but he pulled into our street yesterday just to talk with mom. Then bubs and i will take mom for a long Sunday drive through the area. Seeing the area with mom is a real reminder of how good God is and how beautiful is the area He created in which we live. Then i will go to Bible study, to discuss the book of John with the group. When that's over we may or may not take the dog. At some point we will sit down and listen to one of Bridgewater's sermons on the computer- it's how bubs and mom usually "go to church" each week. Interspersed through the day may be some netflix watching, etc. God is so good to us, in every way and every day. Thank and praise Him!! Sunday is such a wonderful chance to rest and rejuvenate. It's a great way to get prepared for the hectic delight which is the week ahead. Thanks once more God, for the day which (Lord willing) i will be able to have tomorrow. Please be with us this coming week, and help us to remember to thank You for Your gifts throughout it. Amen.

a tisket a tasket

So i've been working on trying to write a mite more frequently lately. i can't say that the stories are polished, or good, or finished, but feel like sharing the link, so here it is: http://jaels-game.livejournal.com/. In other news life proceeds. God has been good (and is all the time praise Him!!) and the dog's sore appears to be healing on its own. We're toying with adding a new pill into mom's regimen. It scares me to upset the apple cart, and risk the side effects of a new pill. A serious one is the potential for a slowed heart rate. Yet it's also scary to consider not giving her the medicine that could help her. It's strange to be making such decisions for someone else. Prayer is the best way. Thank God He provides that option!!

In which i indulge in whiny, girly, passive aggressive girliness, because if you can't be ugly on your blog, where can you be ugly??

Alright, so the title may be fifty shades of hyperbole (and no i have not read, nor do i plan on reading, the books to which that joke is associated, don't worry) but the point is that i figured i'd admit here to the silly girlish jealousy, and get it over with. See today E. became Facebook official with a mutual acquaintance. (Okay, a loose acquaintance of mine, obviously much more now, for him.) Now in all honesty: 1.)Sometimes i read his Facebook statuses, and it strikes me how un-alike we are and how un-right for each other we would be. 2.)i actually thank God that nothing official did happen there, for reasons similar to those outlinePd in number 1. 3.)We barely speak any more. As in i'm trying to think of the last time we spoke on the phone, i have him hidden on Facebook lumping him into the sometimes check out his profile but otherwise may not know what he posts category, and as for seeing him in person, well, it may have been a year. 4.)This distance has lent a clarity to reality, and how despite our best efforts to make it look right, i do think us having any real relationship romantically would have been squeezing a square peg into a round hole, because the peg was so pretty and comfortable. All that being said, it still bothers me a little bit. It isn't the extreme jealousy that once would have been there, or the degree of emotional upset or the strong gut urge to try and win him back. It isn't what it was in earlier phases of our dance, but it is there a little bit. Probably because he was such a big part of my life for so long. Probably because he was so "right" in so many ways, he had so many of the characteristics in a man i'd said i wanted. Probably because he was such a good backup plan. Probably because i like his family, and his friends, and the loss of the potential, was almost like the loss of the family. Probably because i'm still single, and now he's not. Probably because staying up until the wee hours of the morning, sitting on the couch under a blanket on his thirtieth birthday, talking, while the Phantom of the Opera played in the background, is a nice memory. Probably because he brought mom flowers at least twice. Probably because he learned one or two of my darker secrets, and loved me (though he maintained he was not in love with me) anyway. Probably because we bantered about naming his car, and because she took a bath before coming to see me at least once, and because i would pat her, and talk to her, and could lean back into her seat, and listen to the music he let me pick, and just let go of stress. Probably because there was a bottle of tylenol in his center console that was mine, the candy flavored kind, that he bought for me, after the flood. Probably because he had this amazing navy blue fleece that he referred to as mine, which was so amazingly soft, and warm, and over-sized. Probably because he was a part of my life, during at least one stressful part of my life. Probably because i was not nearly as emotionally un-invested in that whole thing as people seemed to think i was, or still think i was. So i'm happy for him, and her. i wouldn't wish he and i back into trying to figure out if we could be right for each other. i feel quite certain we never were, though perhaps we were right for what we were. i wouldn't wish for the stronger feelings that would have once been associated with this post. i wouldn't wish for the jealousy, or the feelings of abandonment when he finally moved on and seemed to just stop contacting me. i wouldn't wish for the realization that at one point even earlier than that i leaned on him so much, that his not being there for me to lean on hurt. i can realize that our dance was not the healthiest thing in the world, and that i perhaps ought to have listened to the voice in my head telling me God didn't want us together seriously much earlier. Still, i'm human, and contrary to the recurring rumor, i'm straight, and female. Which means that when the closest thing to an ex i have goes Facebook official with a girl i know, i may feel something about it. i may stalk both their pages a little the first day. i may blog about it. Then i may move on, much more easily than i would have in the past.

God's providence in the simple things.

Today is the fourth of july. It's the American holiday, which often makes me think of what is perhaps the time in my life in which i felt most patriotic about this day- when i lived in Albania. See, we were there through two Fourths. Both years we attended the big celebration at the American embassy. The first year it was right after we had arrived, and the experience perhaps rang a bit hollow for me. The second year i'd been out of my native soil for about a year, and bought into the experience much more fully. But i digress here. Let's talk about today's fourth. This morning we went to the parade in a nearby town, like we usually do. By we, i mean momma and me. Tonight we went to the fireworks in the same town. By we, i mean momma bubs and me. This morning i had such a plan. Arrive and park behind the publishing house, walk maybe 200 meters and watch the parade. It's what we did last year. It was such a wiser plan, i told myself smugly, than what we had done in the past. In the past we had parked at my friend's mom's house. It's quite a hike, perhaps half a mile to the parade ground then. It's down quite a bit hill to get to the parade, but up on the way back. After driving around for maybe a half hour, i despaired of finding the right parking closer. God was good to us- we didn't actually hit anyone or anything in what was a sizable crowd of drivers equally determined to find parking on back streets and public lots. Perhaps 10 to 30 minutes after the parade stepped off i gave up and headed to the house atop the hill. my concern was the trip back up the road, which had been difficult for mom in the past. i grumbled at the fact that my brother hadn't come, and wondered if i could find someone to stand with her while i ran up for the car. God was good (He always is!) and i ran into a good friend. She agreed to have mom hang with her while i ran (literally part of the way- so incredibly out of shape i am) for the car. Then two fire police men chatted with us and allowed me to park the car off to the side to pick her up. God is so good!! Praise God!! Praise God for everything!! One of the things worth praising Him for has been in my head lately- that being how we can care for mom. She still very much enjoys herself. She still loves life. She still smiles and has preferences. She is doing really well. It saddens me to think what she would be missing were she in a home. Now home's are not always bad things. There are places for them. Sometimes it's the right move. However, that doesn't mean as soon as someone has dementia that's where they should go. There is so much of life to be lived outside a home, even one with good activities. There is so much to be lived outside a locked ward. Were she in a home, mom very well might have missed out on that parade and that fireworks show. Praise God she didn't!!

On addiction

Have you ever had a bad habit that you've basically kicked, but every once in a while the urge comes back to nag at you. I'm grateful that I've never had any truly dangerous addictions. Be it due to fear or horror (can think of two bad habits that were chased away by fear or horror of the action) or morality (drugs and alcohol have been a fairly easily avoided temptation for me) or control or a combination of all of these motivators, I've never gotten into drugs, or alcohol, or anorexia, or smoking, or anything truly dangerous. Mainly i think it's due to grace. Addiction's a funny thing (except that it's not funny at all). You can hate what you're doing, be utterly repulsed by it, yet feel obligated to do it, driven by an extreme need. Odd. God's grace is the best cure.

you are what you read??

/Note: Is anyone else having trouble adjusting to this new blogger format? /end rant. So i saw this study on Facebook: http://bodyodd.msnbc.msn.com/_news/2012/05/13/11665205-you-are-what-you-read-study-suggests?lite If that's true then lately i'm fast food Christian romance (with a smattering of grant guidelines for good measure). Which leads to thoughts on my romantic life (or lack there of) partially in relation to (clean) romance books: 1.) Still super grateful that i don't seem to pine. Much of the time i'm perfectly okay with being single. 2.) If i were to find someone, it would have to be a God thing pretty much (it should be anyway of course). It occurred to me the other day, when thinking about my dating life- i'm a caregiver who works three jobs and attends a church where the median age might be closer to 65 than anything else. My social life, while satisfying is sparse and mostly comprised of hanging out with girlfriends and at times their boyfriends/fiancees. i live in a rural area. Of course i'm single. Where do you expect me to meet someone? 3.) Has anyone else noticed that the older you get, the less often you care about dressing up and trying to look nice? Factor in the healthy dose of bright white hair i allegedly now have scattered throughout, and yeah, where i in one of my books, can you say confirmed spinster? 4.) Wow, i forgot point four (in like the last minute). It was interesting though. (Must add coffee soon- did i ever mention my addiction to coffee? Ever since the cardiologist gave me a clean bill of heart health (well i could have a non-serious issue, or he actually thought my symptoms could be linked to migraines, but neither option would be serious enough to actually go through the bother and expense of finding it out or to change my life in any way, so i'm taking that as a clean bill of health), i decided that it's okay to pretty much forget the other doctor's advice about watching the caffeine. I'm still fairly conservative- like one or two forms of caffeine a day, but not obsessive or paranoid as i was before. By the way, did i ever mention that i went to a cardiologist?) 5.) Oh, there it is back. Has anyone else noticed that when you were in your twenties, the books about women in their 30's or 40's were about people too old for you, but now the books about the college kids and people in their 20's, almost seem unrealistic and too young while the books about the older people seem real? (You may not really find that interesting.) 6.) Spinsterhood is really not bad. Why was it ever such a social stigma? Think about the crazy fun heroines who are spinsters. They are the ones with the real freedom to do as they like. 7.) The half baked half joke college scheme of finding a priest of something to hang around with (having the "plus one" and the companionship without the necessary necessity for romance) still seems like a good idea. For now my brother suffices as token "ackk there's a dead mouse in the bucket get rid of it" male is a blessing. However, if he moves i may be in the market for a new one. 8.) Okay mom is officially up and pacing around asking me questions persistently, so my quiet morning of blogging and so on is officially over. Time to go try to get her to shower, and officially get onto my day. By the way a cop stopped last night as i was trying to urge her to go back in the house at night. It was fairly embarrassing to be asked "Is everything all right here?" by a cop because it may have looked like i was accosting this poor woman. He was very pleasant and cool about accepting my explanation, even to the point of telling mom it was a beautiful night and he wouldn't want to go in either. Still, embarrassing. At least he was a nice (and cute) one. Okay, having my brother's keys held in front of my face. Off to the day.

On ambiguity and simple joys

First of all i want to apologize for the lack of spaces in my posts. i may have to change templates- when i write them there can be spaces galore, but once published they all disappear..... So momma-bear (the name which bubs began calling her not that long ago and which has become for us a term of endearment) does not necessarily like ambiguity. Which is to say that sometimes, you need to make a decision- even if you feel that doing so really doesn't matter. For instance, prior to sitting on her cushion in the car (or whatever qualifies for a cushion at that time, we use many substitutes)she may ask me which side is better. Now there may be no real difference, but telling her so will only prompt continued questioning. Eventually, you may realize that the best way to deal with the situation is to pick a side at random. A decision is warranted, and leads to peace. It's also a blessing to consider simple joys. Take right now for instance. A large-ish, fuzzy-ish, cuddly-ish brown dog is curled up against my thigh. The house is warm. It is spring time. Tonight we had a delicious dinner of asparagus and pierogies. The dog forgives grandma, who is doing her semi-nightly "must fuss about things and touch stuff" routine that precedes bed and bubs is watching tv. Speaking of the nightly routine- it may end more quickly if i go and help her get ready for bed. Thanks God for all!!

Things that make you go hmmmmm.....

Today, Kristen from Rage Against the Minivan posted this: (Okay it may not have been posted today, but i stumbled across it today.) http://www.rageagainsttheminivan.com/2012/05/where-is-mommy-war-for-motherless-child.html It may have been a while since any blog post has so resonated with me. It has kind of rekindled that drive for justice, of which i sometimes contemplate the regression with small levels of anxiety. Regardless, this post resonated with me somewhat strongly and i wanted to share why. Did i ever tell you about my "ahaa" moment regarding the field of social work? It was by a lake in Macedonia. Our orphanage had just lost a child. No, let me be more clear. A child had just died who was, up until that time, residing in the orphanage we were serving at, in Albania. A sickness had hit the homes, a few children had been hospitalized, and one died. Now with two homes holding upwards of fifty children under the age of six, it was a blessing actually that so few children succumbed to a potentially fatal illness. Hearing of this involved some minor agonizing over whether or not i should go on the vacation to Macedonia we had been planning, but i was told that there wasn't much i could do if i didn't. So i did go. i had fun too. Still, that death really bothered me. Here's the odd thing- i didn't even know the child, not really. She wasn't one of my favorite children. She was a "shume i vogel", a very little one. Which is to say that i didn't spend a lot of time with her. She didn't participate in my crafts. i didn't cuddle her in the play room. i'm not sure i could have picked her out of a lineup. She impacted my life. Or rather, God used the tragedy of her death to do so. One day i stood by Lake Ohrid, and thought and prayed (if memory serves me correct). It struck me that the tragedy of the situation was not her death. This isn't to say that this wasn't tragic. No, of course it was. In my mind though, how she died was almost an even larger tragedy. Not that she died of an illness, though that too was sad. What seemed especially tragic was that she died while living in a group home. Even more, it was sad that at her age, in the country at that time, there was almost no other possibility. At that time there was a six month "mother may change her mind" period before an abandoned child could be adopted. Not, mind you after the child was born- after the child was abandoned. After that there was an additional six month long "this child can only be adopted by an Albanian family, even if his or her health condition or disability make this seem highly unlikely" period. Which is to say that a child often would be a year old before he or she would be adopted. Not because there weren't families interested in him. Not because she wasn't lovable. A child would be that old simply because somebody in power decided that he or she had the power to establish regulations which he or she may have honestly thought were in the best interest of the child, but which might not be in practicality. Now this little girl, whose name i do not even remember may have had a family. my ruminations may have been unjustified. She may have been one of the children who lived there because their family can't (or won't but don't get me started there) care for them. They may have been planning to take her home in the near future. That didn't change however the fact that this might not have been the case. By that lake that day, it struck me how important it was to advocate against injustice. People have the potential to affect legislation. They need to act however. People will not act unless they care. People will not care unless they know. At least that is often the case. Thank you Kristen for reminding me of this incident, and of the drive to advocate and inform the public toward social action. Thank You God for this reminder of that day. Thank You that You care about the orphans, and want us to as well. Now lets all get out there and advocate. It is important to speak for institutionalized children. they may not be able to speak for themselves.

A note on mental health.....

Mental Health scares me. There, i've admitted it aloud. Were i psychoanalyzing myself, i might note that in this instance the "tell me about your mother" joke would aptly apply. The root of my aversion to mental health really does stem from my mother, or rather from her psychiatrist. See, when i was a child my mom had two psychiatrists- we'll call them Dr. A and Dr. B. Dr. A i liked, daddy liked him you know. Dr. B. i did not like. It was Dr. B who daddy called a "quack", and it was Dr. B whose name was used in phrases like "Dr. B says you don't love me". Now i have always been a people pleaser at my core, for as long as i can remember. So the implication that my statements of love were invalidated by someone else stung. In hindsight, Dr. B may not have been that bad. Mom took bubs to him once, and bubs said he seemed alright. There was probably a lot going on in those situations which i did not, in my childish awareness, understand, which i still do not understand. Still, he became for me the poster child for mental health quacks who messed with people's brains. Therapists were the people who told parents that their children, who most certainly loved them, did not, in fact, love them. Even as i aged and acknowledged that there were instances in which therapists were helpful, and that there were good ones in the field, they were not for me. It is a testimony to my mother's love and self-sacrificial nature that Dr. B in time went away. i wrote, in all pre-adolescent angst, about my hatred of Dr. B., in my first diary. Mom cleaned my room one day, and i feared that she may have found and read it. At some point it came out that in fact she did. Dr. B's disappearance from our lives, i suspect, had much to do with that diary, and with her ending the therapeutic relationship out of love for me. Why am i purging all of this on the written page (well screen) now? Because there is a chance now that therapy is for me. Not in the way you might be thinking, however. See i came home from Albania and began a degree in social work. Somehow i managed not to realize at first that this meant i was getting a degree in counseling. Through three years of graduate school i vehemently protested that i did not want to be a clinical practitioner. i was not interested in clinical social work. i was not interested in mental health. Fast forward to recently. See, there was this advertisement for mobile therapists. Master's level clinicians wanted. Now i've been feeling of late that i should learn how to help people in that way. i had the epiphany one day that even in case management, you end up playing therapist to clients- if they didn't have problems they probably wouldn't be seeking your help. Mental health is following me. Perhaps even more motivational was the fact that the job offers a $25 an hour salary- in the face of my recent reduction in hours (more on that later) and subsequent return to substitute work (and the knowledge that the sub work won't take me through the summer while the hours reduction probably will) this amount of money is significant. So i bit the bullet. i applied to the job. i had a few telephone interview type discussions with the company. i was offered an in-person interview. i did quite poorly in the interview (as a former instructor of interview skills, i feel qualified to say that i actually stunk). i was offered the position. The pre-employment forms are sitting across the room from me, mostly completed. So long as they are turned in on Monday, i can get into this month's new-hire training and theoretically start in the very near future. This scares me more than most people probably realize. It means fighting against years of predisposition against mental health. Most of my life thus far has involved resentment, distrust, begrudging respect, aversion, and anxiety about the field. Of late it has been mostly fear that i would not be good at it. That i might mess someone up. That i don't have the experience. i even flat out told the interviewer that i was concerned i did not have the clinical experience to do the job. She offered it to me anyway. Not sure if they are desperate, or my credentials are that good. i'm guessing the former. So i'm praying and guessing about taking this job. It would involve me writing treatment plans. It would involve me providing intensive in-home or community therapy to children. It would involve me being the clinical supervisor of the therapeutic staff support worker assigned to that child. me. The kid who used to call mental health practitioners quacks who messed with people's minds. Who says God doesn't have a sense of humor?

More Provisions.....

God continues to provide in wonderful ways.

The furnace is continuing to burn. Still.

I was becoming at times rather stressed about the partial layoff and the reduction of funds. You can imagine my elation last week when one of the schools booked me for both of my days off.

She called back yesterday and booked me for my days off for the next two weeks.

Lord willing this should help a lot.

Praise You God!! Thank You God!!

Fireflies and songs

This song:




has been speaking to me today. It's just such a beautiful picture of love- it isn't always going to be fireflies and songs. It won't always be fireworks and roses. If we stop looking however for perfection, we may find fireflies and songs in daily life.

This song:



has been getting to me as well. It is important to look at the people around us. What if we held church around the poor and the hurting. What if we left our churches and interacted with the world. What if church became the streets? What if instead of trying to drag people into church, we went to them?

open letter to an unnamed woman

Dear woman in the white sweater:

Truly, i have nothing personal against you. i couldn't- i do not even know your name. All i do know is that you came to this evening's public borough council meeting sick.

You weren't only a little sick. You let it be known that you were not feeling well, and even commented that this was a terrible time for you to have the flu.

Wait a second now. Can we imagine the scratching sound that would accompany this monologue were it on tv, stop the presses and replay that last statement. It's a bad time for you to have the flu. The flu.

At one point you asked the men in the chairs on the end to move over, as you had to sit down. You were audibly unhappy, and visually unhappy. Perhaps five or six times during the meeting you made trips to the bathroom (located to the side and behind the council table at the front of the room). By the way that bathroom is not entirely soundproof.

Now i get that you wanted to videotape the meeting. Tonight, you were not the only one taping. It's your right to tape a public meeting. This is not the root of my problem with you.

My problem is this: your right to videotape a public meeting loses, in my personal opinion, to my right, and that of all of the other people in that room, to not feel as badly as you make no bones about feeling.

It wasn't like you had to be there. Were you paid to attend, i might be more understanding. However, i was paid to attend, and that's perhaps one of the main reasons i didn't leave, though i did volunteer my seat to your companion as a polite way of getting away from you.

Here's the underlying plea. It's an earnest one too. Next time you feel sick. Please do stay home. Someone else can tape the meeting. It will save the rest of us some worry.

Thank you,

une

through every day all of the way He will take care of you.....

i don't necessarily do very well unemployed. i don't see myself every being a stay at home mother, and have thought this (with occasional lapses) for quite some time. Honestly, i'm just the sort of person who likes to be employed. There's a part of me which values supporting my family, which enjoys the schedule, the obligations, the break from the daily routine at home. i like to work.

Thus this partial lay off at work (there may be a post on that later, if anyone reading this doesn't know) threw me for a loop.
Suddenly, instead of working 5 days a week i was working only three. Suddenly, i had a little more than $300 every two weeks less with which to pay bills. Now i also have more time, which is a blessing, but nevertheless, i wanted to fill some of my free time with enough work to recoup some of the income.

i don't necessarily do unemployed well.

Still, it has given me ample opportunities to spend time with mom and bubs, and to run errands and achieve some work around the house which has needed doing. While i haven't necessarily always used this time wisely, i pray God forgives me and look at each day as a new chance to achieve goals.

This background is important in relation of the following realization. i forget the basis, but the setting was the bathroom. i don't even remember what i was doing, probably helping mom get ready. i don't remember if she said something, or not. i do remember that somehow i found myself asking the question- is she worth it?

Would she be worth only working part-time? Would she be worth working partially, or fully from home?

The answer was yes. For someone who knows that they do not want to be a stay at home mom (or thinks she knows it at this time), for someone who does not like being unemployed, this was a bit of a weighty realization, a momentous thought. Spending time with mom, caring for mom, would be worth it, were that God's will, for me to stay home with her. If bubs really does move to Texas, and we do not go with him, and were i able to find a way to work from home, and not to leave the house for employment, she would be worth it.

This notion was reinforced this evening, while we were doing a puzzle. The grin on her face, the joy she evidences and spreads could be hard to describe. She so loves to do puzzles with us, though she does the hard bits first for some reason. (i am definitely a do the edges sort of girl- mom goes straight for the animal fur or sky pieces.) It occurred to me again, she is totally worth it.

For as long as it's God's will that we get to hang out with her, which i pray will be a very long time, i hope that i keep remembering this in pleasant ways and happy moments. God has given us the excessive blessing of having our mother. Following His will in caring for her, so long as it's His will that we do so, may not always seem easy. It may not always follow what we think we want. It will likely give so much in exchange though; and she is totally worth it.

At times i may still get exasperated with things; and i know that i am often deficient in my duty. Take tonight for instance, when once again i was snapping at her after falling asleep early and waking up cranky.

By the way she is extremely patient and forgiving in those times. This too is a blessing.

Despite all of that however, our current lifestyle is so full of those sorts of blessings, and many more besides. It is full of puzzles, and long car rides, of songs made up for the grandchildren, and calls from adopted daughters in California, of someone waiting for you at the door after work with a grin on her face, and someone asking if they can help when tiredness or unwell feelings appear, and so much more. It is totally worth it. Thank You God for it.

Thank You God for everything; without You we would have nothing!!

God will take care of you.....

Firstly, as usual, i apologize for the length between updates, especially given my recent quasi-employed status.

God has been taking care of us in miraculous ways. Recently, we were told that before they would deliver more fuel to our tank, by which we head the house, we had to finally fix the overflow whistle. We've lacked one of these since we first started utilizing a furnace again, two years ago or so. It's an expensive item to fix (over two hundred dollars) and the oil company has been willing to deliver only a hundred or one hundred fifty gallons at a time (we have two tanks which together equal five hundred gallons), so it wasn't really a problem. Of course, as the fuel meter's broke as well, it's been a guessing game between skirting shy of overfilling the tank (lacking the overflow whistle) and running out.

This year had been a good year- i don't know as we'd ever actually run out once. In the depths of a cold, cold winter 100 gallons of fuel has historically been dependable for lasting about 2 weeks in our large, drafty old home. (Weatherization? What's that?) As it's been a mild winter this year (dubbed by at least one person the winter that wasn't), we were able to push things a little longer.

Add to that the fact that we were able to go on a budget plan this year, with a cap attached and heating life was good.

So a few weeks ago, i went to order more fuel (it had been maybe three or four weeks since last delivery) and was informed that they could deliver one more time but would not deliver again without the whistle. Regulations are occasionally cracked down upon, you know.

So we schedule the repair. The repairman arrives, and he does not fix the problem. The reason? The tanks, which were not replaced when the furnace was and have been there at least as long as i remember, are "seeping". Which is to say that apparently they are not actually dripping fuel into the basement, but they are not safe to continue using, and another delivery, which pumps fuel in at a rate of force which surprised me, would not be advisable. The verdict? New tank needed.

Now here's where the miraculous blessings parts come in. Firstly, had we had one more delivery, apparently it could have been bad, like 100 gallons of fuel oil in our basement bad. So maybe i never thought i would say this, but praise God for government regulations!

Then, there's the fact that the tanks were still solid enough to allow us to run through the fuel already in them. So heat.

Finally, the fuel has not yet run out. This is pivotal as we are currently not using the wood stove (a bird flew out of it last year, and until we figure out how the bird went in and out of it that isn't really a safe bet for winter heat) and without the furnace are not truly sure how we could stay sufficiently warm. We can't use the furnace once the fuel is used, however, until we install the new tank. It's uncertain how long that may take.

It's almost the end of winter though, and it's a mild winter. So if the existing fuel can just last until the warmer weather, we won't have to sweat the heat while it's repaired. Also, perhaps we could have some breathing room on the repair, and the cost thereof.

Still, i would have expected the fuel to be run through days, if not weeks, ago. It's gotten to the point where it's a "thank You, praise You God!" experience every time we hear the furnace kick on. A few years ago, before we put in the new furnace, i wrote a post on my old blog about "manna wood". That was when the wood stove was our only source of heat, and for some reason we went some days without a wood delivery. For nights in a row, i could be found out in the snow scrounging for wood in the pile by the house. Each night i unearthed, it seemed, enough to get us through the night. Like the manna of old, God supplied our needs.

i have a similar feeling now, about the fuel oil. God is giving us enough fuel to keep us warm.

thank You praise You God!!

on weddings and communion

Unfortunately (that's not an appropriate phrase because this has nothing to do with fortune and all to do with laziness, but i digress) i have not written this post yet. Which is also not an appropriate phrase as by the time anyone is reading it that statement will be false. So if a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it does it make a sound? Or if a blogger makes a statement, which is invalidated once it is read does the time-line apply to the blogger or the reader? Perhaps we should just pretend this entire first paragraph never happened.

The point is that some of my ardor over this subject has waned, from the time that i originally plotted this entry. So perhaps as you read it, you could supply a touch of fervor from your end?

(That might be the most ludicrous introduction to a serious post i've ever written by the way.)

Last Saturday i attended a wedding. The ceremony in and of itself was quite nice overall. The bride and groom were delightfully (slightly nauseatingly) in love (there were frequent mini make-out sessions during the reception). i had a date to the reception (two actually) in the form of a marvelously down to earth girlfriend and her adorable four year old son (age is estimated cuteness is not). We sat with another high school friend and her husband and son during the reception. There was dancing and food, and i realized that either i am older than i once was or the macarena has lengthened through the years (i blame the high heeled boots).

There were no stressing calls from home. It was a bit of a struggle not to obsessively check on things, but i managed to let go and let God for most of the night and things were fine. (Control freak who has trouble believing that the world is okay if i leave for an evening, me? Never..... okay, yeah that's totally me. Sorry God. Thanks for forgiving me.)

The high school girlfriend told me i looked nice, and i believe her.

Overall it was a very good evening, with only a few things marring it (one of which is the theme of this post).

The first was the fact that a few of my dresses were suddenly too fitting on me (sigh must start exercising) so i played the part of Tasmanian woman donning and doffing clothing frantically in the few minutes before (and a few minutes after) my dates arrived.

Another was the fact that they took communion at the wedding.

Now it's confession time- during the ceremony i was being pretty heavily convicted.

See, i had spent some time prior to the event kind of judging the bride and groom. It was a hasty seeming wedding; they'd only known each other since the spring. The bride was divorced and had told me at one point in the past that she didn't believe that divorced people should remarry. To be honest i hadn't met the groom and didn't know the proposal story, and i resented the fact that my numerous phone calls to talk to her and find out what was going on between the Facebook engagement announcement and the actual wedding had been for the most part neither answered nor returned.

So during the ceremony, i looked at this couple getting married, and felt horribly guilty because i, as her friend and attendant at her ceremony, had been judging them. i sat in my pew seat and prayed in apology.

Suddenly, they announced that they would be taking communion and that they wanted all of us to as well. The pastor announced that in the Methodist church anyone who knew Jesus could take communion.

Now yes, i also believe that if you know Jesus you can take communion. Also, i get the symbolism of the ceremony and have seen it done beautifully in at least one prior wedding.

There was a difference this time however. This time, i was one of the people sitting in the pew panicking because i wasn't comfortable doing it but felt like there was no choice. This got me thinking about how many other people there likely were in that church feeling the same way.

i didn't want to take it for a few reasons. For one, i've heard pastors repeatedly charge us not to take communion unworthily. There's a Bible passage about not making an offering without first making things right with your brother. There i was sitting in the pew feeling i had wronged two good friends of mine, and now they were asking me to take communion with them. Secondly, there was another reason i did not feel right taking it (which i won't get into here). Regardless, i sat there squirming.

My date whispered next to me, asking if i was going up. i responded that i didn't think we had a choice. She also appeared reticent. Later she told me that she was Catholic, and had not gone to confession.

We were only two people there, and i am certain we were not alone. In the end, this certainty was proved when the girl next to my friend told us she was not going up and we could go around her. That gave us the courage to stay put as well. We became the awkward half a pew who didn't go forward, as opposed to the one person- and there was strength and solidarity in the group rebellion.

After this experience i really thought about the subject. Had the pastor made the caveat aloud, stating that if you were not comfortable you could remain in the pew, perhaps the pressure would have been alleviated. Should i ever get married however, it is my firm belief that i will opt not to observe the ritual at all.

What is beautiful and meaningful for the bride and groom has the potential to be humiliating and uncomfortable for the observers. To admit in such a situation that you do not want to go up is to insinuate that you don't know God, or to make yourself stand out. Now i know that isn't the intent, but having been the one uncomfortable i realized that this could be the reality. Peer pressure may drive them to violate their consciences.

Neither should those who aren't Christians be partaking in this Christian ritual. It has the potential to offend the beliefs of those who feel it should be offered only to a select group, from both sides.

Those are my thoughts- perhaps scattered as they may be. What do you think- am i over-thinking things.

Please no one be offended by these ruminations. It's just my musings.

on the secret to beauty

i was driving to work last night, and this song came on. It wasn't the first time I've heard the song, nor was it the first time it's touched me. Nevertheless, last night it struck me in a particular way, and i found myself driving down the road, music turned up, tapping the steering wheel.

How do we define beauty?

I don't always feel beautiful physically- especially when, as has been the case lately, I encounter myself in the mirror at work slightly sick, looking tired, and with the visible proof of the weight I have gained. (Which in my mind is evident proof of how out of shape I have become, compared to the devoted runner I once was.)

(By the way- does anyone else harbor the conspiracy theory that the makers of ladies' room mirrors are financially connected to the cosmetics industry?)

Nor do I always feel inwardly beautiful. There are times when my failures dog my conscience, when I realize how dirty my house is or how much more productive I could be, how unloving I was at work, or how poorly that day I reflected Christ.

That however, is the beauty of this song about beauty. It reminds us that beauty isn't made of how we look, or how we measure up to our standards. Beauty is made of God's creation and work in us. As I told my sister earlier this week, God is perfect and does not make worthless people.

He makes beautiful things out of us.

Tomorrow should I encounter myself in the ladies room mirror, probably still a bit sick and with hair hastily thrown in a ponytail, glasses slightly askance and held together with melted plastic and metal, feeling slightly guilty due to my lack of productivity, or frustration with a coworker, or tendency to gossip, I hope I remember this.

I hope I allow Him, too, to make me the beautiful thing He has planned, to be a willing creation.

God's grace in the miniscule domestic sphere

Did you ever find yourself sitting on the edge of the bathtub, clutching a plunger and nearly crying at the wonder of the gurgle of water through pipes and the sight of its imminent departure from your field of vision? i have. Tonight in fact that was me, hair stretching the confines of the pony tail, sleeves pushed up, joy so full in my heart i wanted to either laugh or cry. That crazy woman there- yeah that's totally me. Here's why.

To get my joy you'd have to understand my house. It's..... well if i was buying it i would term it a "fixer upper". Since i own it i'm not sure what to call it. There's wallpaper and paint drooping and sagging in various spots, the electric doesn't work in large chunks of the place, there's a hole between the kitchen and upstairs bathroom, and the pipes are a plumber's nightmare. i know this because we've had them fixed- repeatedly. The hole by the way is for ease of access to the pipes between the two floors. It hasn't been worth replacing that section of kitchen ceiling actually, because of how often that section of pipes broke. Like recently, when i accidentally dislodged the piece of tin can patching a hole in the shower drainage pipe causing what proved to be months of leak issues. A friend recently (praise God!!)) came and fixed this spot for us, and dared to say that we are probably finally done with that section of pipe. Honestly, i'm not sure there is much there which hasn't been fixed or patched now, and the friend thinks what is there and original appears to be pretty solid. So we had a non-dripping pipe, which was bliss in and of itself. Except- we still had a non-draining tub. This is why i was attempting to snake the pipe in the first place, the action which caused the leak.

Now i'm grateful we have hot water and a shower at all, or even water at all. However, my first world mind would like to argue that until you've had to bucket out the water after each shower, you don't realize how annoying this requirement can be. The water, until emptied, sits in the shower, spawning mold growth, and smelling. Bucketing it into the toilet can make you slightly sore. This has recently been made even worse by the fact that my brother has come down with a serious leg infection (perhaps more on that later). This means that i got to bucket out after everyone's showers, as it seemed cruel to ask him to stand on his leg long enough to do it himself. (i also wouldn't make mom do hers of course). Anyway, you get the picture.

So tonight, with a headache, i go upstairs to empty the tub from the shower i took this morning. Prior to doing so, i decide to try again to plunge it. This is something i have tried repeatedly through the months, and previous stoppages. We've also tried chemicals (not in a while, as i hate them), vinegar and baking soda treatments, snaking (difficult with our pipes), and a kitchen sink. (Okay, we haven't tried the kitchen sink, but i did stand atop it to try to snake through the cut pipe prior to the friend reconnecting it.)

So i'm sitting there, plunging, and feeling sorry for myself, wallowing in my singleness and how it would be nice to have a man at times like this. Not that my brother isn't a man, but it's different anyway and he has that leg infection. A man, i thought wistfully, who would fix things like this, and take care of me, and let me curl up and relax when i had a headache and was down on a Friday night. Wistful thinking perhaps, but there i was.

At one point, i prayed. i asked God to please fix the pipe, thinking that i could give Him the glory if He did. i'm not sure if i had actually prayed about it before. i remember thinking that i ought to have tried sooner even tonight.

A few seconds or minutes, really shortly thereafter, i heard a noise. Water was running. i yelled to bubs to check the kitchen, fearing it was only another leak, but he confirmed that it was not so. At that point my ears tuned to the gurgle, and my eyes affixed to the water levels. Sure enough the water was decreasing, and continued to do so until it was all gone. i sat there almost crying, almost laughing at the sight.

See, the thing you have to understand about this- about why it was such a big deal for me, is that it was a mini-miracle. This clog had been so stubborn. i did nothing tonight that i haven't tried before. There is no reason why tonight this should have worked.

Except for God.

And that's the most important part. He cares enough to create a miracle for me. He cares enough to care that my pipes are drained, and i'm feeling low. He cares enough to show me that i don't need a man, i only need Him. He cares enough to answer my prayer, even though i am only one small girl in one small house in a small town in a small life in america. He cares. He doesn't have to. Praise You God that You do!! Praise You that You love us even though we're nothing!!

Thanks again God!! This is balm to my soul.

Amen.