Chapter 18

Oh dear. Oh dear. Oh dear.

Tom called me from his cell phone at 3:30 and said he was in the driveway and could I help him carry some things inside the house?

Three-thirty?! What was he doing home so early, I asked when I got outside. "Is anything wrong?"

"Well, there's something not too right."

So I ran out to the car, reached for the bags inside the opened window and jokingly asked, "Well, you weren't fired were you?"

Tom replied, "Actually, I was laid off."

Oh dear. My stomach dropped. "Tom, you're not joking, are you? You wouldn't joke about this would you?"

No, turns out he wasn't kidding. He was in a little group of guys laid off today. The company is downsizing to just a tiny skeleton crew.

My first thought? "Breathe. Breathe. Stay calm. Save the tears for later."

And then, "This doesn't happen to us! Not after what amounts to 22 years with the same company." (Technically it's not the same company, but as close as it gets.) "This happens to other people!"

But it has happened. And if it's happened to you, I now know how you feel. In the nearly 32 years of our marriage, Tom has never been laid off. Never been without a job.

Sigh.

So right now we are all about scribbling numbers on backs of envelopes and what can we cut back on and --?? Well, you know.

And remember how I was complaining about this farm? Well, forget all that, ok? Just ignore those posts because, right now, at this moment, I am so grateful for this roof over our heads. This home place we, hopefully, can pay off somehow so it will be ours (fortunately, we don't owe too much on it).

Wow. Change. It can happen in a moment, in as long as it takes for someone you've worked with for 17 years to call you into his office and to, shakily, tell you he's sorry, but ---

Everything will be all right (I repeat again and again). Please pray that we'll make all the right decisions, ok? And that we won't become negative and say a bunch of doubtful stuff. Tom and I believe in the power of life and death being in the tongue and we so want to honor God with our words. Even now.

*******


Proverbs 3:5
"Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not unto your own understanding."


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I'm back! Well, mostly. Whew.

And today I will solve the mystery of my disappearance.

Back in July, Tom decided that we needed to go visit his family in the tiny mountain town where he and I met long, long ago. He said we should fly out there, then I said, after this long, humid summer, flying would push me over the proverbial edge. Splat.

That's about the time one of us suggested finally taking the train adventure we'd discussed for, oh, around thirty years. Yes! We would take the train, instead.

And I was ok with that.

So Tom began to plan online a long train ride from Buffalo, NY to Reno, NV, where we'd then rent a car and drive to visit the ol' hometown in California. He booked us one tiny roomette on the train ride there and a larger family-sized room (after acquiring a killer deal) for the ride back. He lined up the rental car and even reservations at a lovely B&B in our hometown and at the Peppermill in Reno (another deal thanks to Priceline). We were getting excited.

And then Tom got laid off from his job.

Gah. My first reaction? "Cancel the trip! Let's just stay home and clean and paint things and pretend we still have some control over our life." My, I'd never before longed so badly to organize and bake and plan, plan, plan for the future. And to use our vacation money for other things like, well, food.

But that's when God said, "No, I want you to take that trip. You'll have lots of time to plan things when you return home." He reminded me that some of Tom's family had experienced sicknesses and diseases this past year, Tom hadn't seen everyone in three years and I'd not visited with them in six. He also reminded me that none of us has complete control over our lives, only a type of control over our own behavior and responses to what happens to us. What matters most is that we trust God that all will be well. In Time.

So at half past midnight early Sunday morning, the 5th of September, Tom and I crept up the stairs of our first real train, there outside in the night sky of Buffalo. And the adventure began.

       

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"Iron sharpens iron and one man sharpens another."

So yesterday Tom left for a haircut in a nearby town and I, all excited to have some Suzy Homemaker Time, put in my Susan Boyle cd, got my ironing board out of the bedroom closet and pulled some wrinkled shirts from the cupboard where I keep them.

And then while I waited for the iron to warm up, Naomi prepared a salad in the kitchen and began sharing some of her conspiracy theories with me (again), Big Brother is Watching You stuff, and after awhile I told her, "Aww, Honey. Don't worry, just be happy."

To which she replied, "Huh! You worry all the time! You always seem stressed-out."

Oh wow. Direct hit. Bam!

Of course, I gave her The List, you know, my Extreme Life Changes around this place since August 31st when Tom was laid-off. I told her I'd experienced some extra-hard times, had had to learn to live a whole other way, but now I'd accepted much and was peaceful again. But she'd finished making her salad and was halfway up the stairs before I'd even finished whining my justifications.

And then my Suzy Homemaker time became not a delight, but a struggle.My spirit limped. I ironed and felt sad that my daughter sees me as a worrier. Gah. And with me believing so strongly that what we are at home is, well, what we truly are! I felt bad, also, for you. That maybe after all I'm not being truthful in this blog, meaning you might be reading half-truths here.

Eegads! Isn't it wild how we can believe ourselves to be one way yet give us a few words otherwise and we doubt ourselves? At those times I consider running, escaping into myself, actually, and hiding away from a world with the potential to hurt me.

Of course, I don't worry all the time--that was an exaggeration. I know that. When Tom arrived home I asked him if he sees me as a 24/7 worrier and he said no. But still, Naomi's words stung, even after I went to God and asked if He thought I worried too much. His opinion, after all, counts the most.

Yet will I, in justification or retaliation, give you a list of Naomi's faults? Will I criticize her, expose where she's not perfect so to bring myself back up to a certain angelic level?

Of course not. That is so not the answer.

No, the real answer is to see all people in our lives as teachers, those who stretch us beyond our sorry selves. Those who give us gifts of humility by reminding us that, no, we are not perfect. And to see them as iron, also--you know, iron sharpening iron (as the Bible says). For God does use other people to sharpen us, to show us where we've missed the mark. Especially when we've not allowed God to show us, first.

Teachers--they're everywhere! They especially enjoy living in our neighborhoods and even inside own homes, also. :)

******

Need to be humbled? Have a child.   :)


"If you share a house with teenagers you know exactly what it's like to live under surveillance, to be monitored for the slightest inconsistency in thought, word or deed. Observed by the merciless eye of youth, we are judged without pity and, as often as not, found wanting."  

 ... Katrina Kenison, Gift of an Ordinary Day


******


Ha! I told God yesterday and even this morning that I refused to write about this! No. No way. Unh-unh. The sting of remembrance was yet tender, I said. His reply was something like, "That's fine, but if you want Me to write a post through you, well, you'll need to change your mind. This is exactly what I want to write through you today."

Don't you hate it when that happens? :)








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From our fun (though too short!) visit with Nevada friends, Darcy and Johannah Schumacher

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So guess who finally got out of Purgator--, uh, her house today?

Yep, ol' Debra. Tom had an appointment at the unemployment office in a city by way of the countryside and though all the trees are still brown and the skies, grey, it felt wonderful to sail along these quiet country roads.

He dropped me off on an unfriendly-feeling, tall-building'ed corner near an antique shop, but alas, it was closed. But the nice thing? A new bakery stood next door, so new, that I fancied God had placed it there just for me. I slipped inside the customer-less shop to wait a half hour until the antique store opened and an elderly man and a younger woman (probably father and daughter) greeted me warmly. 

After I ordered a decaf and a small bran muffin I apologized to the woman for having only a 20 dollar bill. I told her, "I hate to do this to you," and did she grouse? Did she turn all beady-eyed and ask me if I had anything smaller? No, she happily said, "No problem! Twenty dollar bills have to come in sometime. It's fine."

Wow.

These two people seemed to have such servants' hearts. The woman had to make a new pot of decaf (she didn't complain about that either) and then she brought my coffee to my table where I sat squinting at the newspaper (being to vain to wear my reading glasses, I confess). Also she brought along a large basket of cream and sugar and later her dad--I am supposing--came around the counter and asked me kindly if he could get me anything else.

For the entire half hour I was their only customer. The muffin tasted amazing (oh, that cream cheese swirled on top!), my decaf was dreadful. Like instant decaf, only worse. So I poured in more cream. Then more sugar. Tasted it, then added more cream. More sugar. Re-tasted it and gave-up and drank most of it anyway.

I sat there and prayed this business would succeed--all that new pretty paint, different colors on each wall and two baskets of fresh flowers, one with a congratulations balloon, sat on the front counter and gaily shouted, "We are trying a new venture!" But scarily, across the street stood a coffee shop with an oh-so-cool neon light the shape of a coffee cup and an awning and a sign sure to bring in young, hip coffee-seekers who fancy themselves java experts.

My little shop screamed none of that, but I'm betting their homemade pastries are better than that corporate-appearing place across the way. And although I sat there and got all dreamy eyed about how the coffee must taste over there, still, I was glad I'd landed where I had. I thought how God probably wanted me to choose this quiet place.

But oh, nowadays I do know this--if you are going to sell coffee, it had better be good. No, terrific. Most people have been coffee enlightened and refuse to go back. And the sad thing? My homemade decaf which I make daily in my $3 cheapo, old coffee maker tastes like nirvana in comparison.

So like I said, I prayed. And I would have loved to give these oh-so-kind people some helpful advice about making coffee, but I didn't. I just thanked them on my way out (they both thanked me, first) and told them it had all been wonderful.

And you know? Take away the dreadful coffee and it was wonderful. The getting out alone, the sitting at a bistro table in a coffee shop, something I used to do all the time. 

And the praying for people who will never know I prayed--that's good for me. And I hope it will be good for them, as well. May they stay in business for as long as their servants' hearts desire.


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Lennon The Cat

March 1st, 1997 -- February 18, 2011



We will always be grateful that Naomi snuck you home from the flea market beneath her jacket, for she carried home to us a good listener, a gentle soul and a sweet, best friend.


We will always miss you, Lennon. You were such a good boy.





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The week after losing Lennon felt more devastating to me than I let you know here. Simply put, I felt crushed, crumpled and sometimes found it hard to breathe.

And then came Sunday morning.

I awoke around 4:30, decided to get up, made my hot chocolate, then burrowed into Tom's recliner beneath four heavy, warm blankets and began to watch a Netflix movie.

That's when Tom came cough-cough-coughing into the living room. He's had a flu of some type for days. Sigh.

So I tossed a couple blankets to him on the couch and then switched the movie to the movie, A Man Called Pearl. Immediately I felt inspired to be more creative, to work harder. And I also felt sleepier and sleepier, so I leaned the chair back, turned toward Tom's messy lower bookshelf and drifted away.

Then moments later I slowly, luxuriously awoke, opened my eyes and there I saw Lennon staring down at me from the bookshelf with that wise, compassionate look in those golden eyes. The look he always gave me while sitting together at the sunny front porch table.

For a slow five seconds I stared at him while thinking, "Doesn't he look contented?" Then I wondered, "Why is Lennon sitting on that shelf? It's usually too crowded with Tom's clutter." And then I realized, "Wait! Lennon can't be there. He's gone."

Then I really awoke, to no Lennon, only the cluttered shelf. But oh, gratitude swelled within me for I'd 'seen' Lennon and he'd looked fine, healthy again. And I remembered what the vet's sympathy card had stated: "Remember that your pet is watching over your family now."

Then I turned back toward the tv while thinking, "Now I know Lennon is waiting for me in Heaven. Everything's going to be ok." 

S couple moments later during A Man Named Pearl, a young people's choir, out in Pearl's lovely garden, began singing the song I often hum to make my worries flee away:

I've got a feelin', that everything's gonna be all right,

Oh, oh, oh, I've got a feelin' that everything's gonna be all right...


Wow. I thanked God for sending comfort as only He can. And I felt myself truly beginning to heal from my previous devastation. 

He is so good. His gifts are indescribable.




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You know how, when someone close to you dies, you're supposed to allow yourself to go through all those stages of grief so that, someday, you can accept your loss and move on in a healthy frame of mind?

Well. This past week I've been convicted to finally hold a funeral for Suzy. You know, Suzy Homemaker. The way, seven months ago, I went from (freely and with great splashy abandon) playing Suzy 64 hours a week to now averaging only 2. From having my own kitchen and a sweet Mom Cave to a shared kitchen and no room of my very own.

And with no Lennon the Cat to sit beside, either.

I am only just now seeing that the stress I've been experiencing (it came to me that Naomi's second sentence was more accurate--I've acted stressed-out, not worried) is because I've been, one by one, experiencing the first four stages of grief over the loss of my Suzy Homemaker lifestyle:

1. Denial
2. Anger
3. Bargaining
4. Depression

Gah! How could I be so clueless? I've been grieving unknowingly over Suzy's demise. I didn't until this week even guess why such foreign emotions plagued my head (well, foreign for Today's Debra. Previous Debra lived with those things daily back in the 70's and 80's.)

It's time to admit Suzy has died. And I've been grieving her death even without realizing it.

The time's arrived to stop pretending things are the same, for that brings only more stress when, over and over, I don't get to play my music loud and flit about the house in my apron doing what I want exactly when I want to. And all those other freedoms which come along with true, traditional Suzy Homemakering.

Those days are gone.

And there comes a time to admit when you lost what you once had. Otherwise you go, well, crazy. It's the people who skip the final stage of grief--Acceptance--who have been known to go insane. To go around pretending they still have what they lost, and have it (or him or her) the same way, paving a path to an other world which does not exist.

Or at the very least, they become a stressed-out bundle of nerves ready to snap at anyone who tries to help. Uh-oh. Like I've felt lately.

So finally Suzy will have her funeral. And I will move on to Stage of Grief Number 5 (acceptance), for too many albeit-necessary hours have already been spent parked at Stages of Grief 1 through 4.

It's time to let go. To move on within my new parameters so that I can design a different way to live my days, to custom-fit them into this new stage so to discover the fresh freedoms waiting for me there.

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Yesterday we had bright sunshine from moment one and I sat out on the (window-enclosed) front porch with my coffee and books extra early and let the sunshine sweep away, finally, the harshness of these past two months.

And later I hung laundry outside upon my prayed-for clothesline and raked and raked dead leaves, pine needles and the gravel rocks which our neighbor's snow blower swooped upon the lawn. I carried our vegetable clippings out to the compost pile, swept the patio and barn sidewalk and the song "Happy Days Are Here Again!" kept spinning inside my head.

Then in later afternoon while the frogs in our gleaming winter lake croaked, clicked and creaked, I, with my wheelbarrow, sat beside the flower bed on the sunny side of the house and picked amongst the dead stems and grasses, clearing the way for new growth to catch the sun and grow, grow, grow.

That's when it happened.

That's when I stared up at the living room window and remembered all those months behind the glass, gazing upon fields of snow, longing to sit outside, sun upon my back, weeding the flower beds, below.

That's when I realized, at that very moment, this was a dream-come-true! And I gasped with the wonder of it. How many days do any of us, really, experience the fruition of something so longed for? What percentage of Life reflects that?

Amazing day, so stuffed with Grace, that she was everywhere--inside, outside, upside-down. She matched my steps and made everything enchanted. Easier.

Always, I've been healthy, physically, except for the occasional virus, and have never needed to say, "I must do such-and-such for my health." But now? Now more than ever I know that, for my health--physical, mental and otherwise--I need to move away to a milder climate.

One must know herself. And both Tom and I must--next year at the latest--move to a place where, come winter, we do not hibernate in our small rooms lest Tom slip on the ice, he with his polio'ed leg. To a place where we can get out and walk year-around, lest we turn into the roly-poly old things which we are this morning. 

Yesterday healed me. The sun and the 58 degrees, and now I am back to the Debra I recognize, the happy one you've seen in this blog for 6 years. And on the day of Suzy Homemaker's funeral, of all days! (God's ways are so like that, so opposite of what I'd suppose.)

Now I know myself better. Now I know what I--what we--must do. And now there is great peace.


*** Update in 2015: Well! 

We're still here in The Land Where Winter is Ridiculous, but you know? Two things have happened: I've learned to receive more needed Grace and not to complain so much. Oh, when we cling to our blessings rather than our complaints!

And Tom? He's been able to spend the last two winters in South Africa due to his new job. Great for him and me, also, there being no temptation to worry about his slipping in the snow.

Oh, the changes when we go with God's plan, not ours!

And yeah, it helps that we live in a house where the best big windows face south.  :)





******

"Know thyself." ... copied 



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  So does anybody remember one of Elijah Wood's earliest movies called North? It's about an 11-year-old boy, North, who resents his parents' busyness with their careers and all things unrelated to him, so he runs away and has wild, funny adventures in various countries (if I remember correctly).

His parents, meanwhile, desperately search for him and agree to do a tv interview in hopes that North will see how much they want him back. But the ne'er-do-well interviewer (for reasons I can't recall) doesn't want North to return home, so he begins the interview by telling the parents there's a boy named Hugh who needs a home and would they like him, instead?

The parents then respond with statements like, "We don't want Hugh! We don't want Hugh in our home!" Later the interview airs, though with new questions dubbed-in by the interviewer. So it appears he's asking the parents, "What would you want North to know right now?" To which they're shown replying adamantly, "We don't want Hugh! We would never want Hugh!", which sounds very much like, "We don't want you! We would never want you!"

And of course, North watches that interview on tv and is devastated. He walks away believing his parents don't love him anymore.

Heh. It's a creative, imaginative, funny movie (you have to watch it to understand) and I recommend it to the quirky amongst you.

Anyway, all these years later, Tom and I still are known to, when a cat or a person does something we didn't want them to, quip, "We don't want Hugh!" and then giggle as though we're the cleverest people on Earth.

With all that in mind, here's the only thing I don't like about Facebook. It's when you contact an old (or new) friend to become your buddy at Facebook, but through probably a myriad of reasons, it takes months for them to approve your request for Facebook friendship. Months! (Usually, it's because they're new to all this, it's an oversight or they sign-up then never darken Facebook's doors again.)

But! What happens during all those months is that--whenever they approve other friends--it's announced on your home page.

"Little Miss Muffet became friends with Jack Sprat."

It's like the announcement 'bleeds through' to your page, even though no other status reports of any kind appear if you are not Mistress Mary's official friend(!) So for months you read:

"Little Miss Muffet became friends with Jane Doe" (the most popular woman in church)
"Little Miss Muffet became friends with Mistress Mary Quite Contrary" (your old nemesis from high school)

And of course, it's a bothersome thing to see your old friend, Little Miss Muffet, becoming Facebook friends with every Tom, Dick and Harry who is not you.

Or should I say who is not Hugh. heh. Because that's how I've trained myself to see this annoying Facebook oversight. I just smile and say, "Little Miss Muffet doesn't want Hugh! Little Miss Muffet never wanted Hugh!"

Oh, how good it feels when we choose not to get offended! For always, becoming offended is a personal choice. No, seriously. I can choose to believe there's a logical, reasonable explanation for an unanswered email, an ignored wave or unkind words. Or I can also choose to believe somehow there was a lack of communication and wires got crossed and I got left out accidentally.

I can always choose to believe the very best or I can choose to act six-years-old and make squeaky vows to never, ever speak to them again. Harumph.

But as for me and myself, I will try extremely hard to always choose to believe the very best.

*****


Matthew 24:10
And then shall many be offended, and shall betray one another, and shall hate one another.



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Oh! Just now checked out North on Netflix and it's on instant view...yay!



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So lately Tom and I are watching old Rockford Files reruns by way of Netflix until we're all bleary-eyed and wow--do you remember how the outside of his, er, mobile home (I dislike the term 'trailer') looked beyond dreadfully depressing? Well, (now don't faint) the inside charms me.

Those three small rooms, (the living room/kitchen combined, the bathroom, the bedroom) even with their grey paneling, look cozy, what with their compactness and a-place-for-everything shelves and cupboards. 

The best part? Rockford's shoddy home sits on a beautiful beach. Sometimes he even walks to the ocean's edge and fishes for his breakfast, barbeque's it, then sits at his picnic table outside his front door. Or most often, he steps over to the old-fashioned taco stand just yards away and orders two tacos.

Tacos for breakfast! I could get into something like that.

Oh, that ol' Jim Rockford had it made living inside that beat-up old single-wide. Sometimes I stare at the tv screen and think, "Tom and I could live like that. I could make a little office for me in the bedroom and Tom could stay at the other end, in the living room. I'd enjoy the challenge. It would be cozy. It would be sweet."

Ha! It would probably be a nightmare.

I mean, this past winter we barely survived sharing these five rooms downstairs. Just. Barely. Survived. But of course, living in a tiny place on a huge beach in Malibu, well, now that would be different! We'd have the whole great outdoors more days than not (oh, to have no snow! But, alas, there would be fog. I hate fog.). But we'd have to share that beach, our yard, even, with beach dwellers--Rockford had no privacy once he stepped outside his front door. Zip.

And I do need my privacy. And I need to have cats, also, and well,where would the litter boxes go? The taco stand a stone's throw away would be terrific--for awhile. But I'd soon grow tired of that greasy smell and I'd nag poor ol' Tom about eating there, not to mention the temptation to eat tacos every meal, myself, might win over my own common sense.

But at least we could walk it off, what with all that beach! Well, I could walk it off. Tom needs solid ground on which to walk. Oh well, maybe he could squeeze an exercise bike into his living room. Along with his guitars, tractor books, amplifiers and roll-around tool boxes and--

Ha! It's fun to dream, isn't it? Especially when those dreams help us hone into what we really want and need--and what we don't and what wouldn't. When those dreams reveal to us who we really are, not who we suppose ourselves to be.

Since moving to this farm I've learned more than I ever wanted to know about myself and in all the learning, it's been the best of times, the worst of times.

But mostly the best. Because of owning all this land and a barn, orchard, old farmhouse? Partly. But for me, the part I'll always remember as being best was getting real with myself. Gaining this new caution light inside my head, a light which tells me not every decision I make is the one God deems best. Not every dream inside my head is divinely inspired.

This knowledge will make me more cautious in the future.

Now I realize some dreams are meant simply to tickle our minds, to give us a land in which to escape during hard times until we can return to our present reality and remember that yes! My own reality is mighty sweet. 

Some dreams are simply places to go until God restores to us the strength and creativity to make our own reality into the greatest dream of all.




*****


In case you're wondering--no, I do not regret buying this farm. I never will. But the reasons for my thankfulness are totally different than what I would have, years ago, supposed. It's taught me more than any college or Bible course ever could.





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Grandchildren--I don't have any and perhaps never will.

Now, all you dear grandmas out there, please don't feel sorry for me! For the whole point of this post is that I don't pity myself at all. All these years as, over and over, poof! My friends have become grandmothers to tiny bundles of sweetness, almost never have I felt jealous--and the times I have--those feelings were oh so fleeting. Here for ten minutes, gone for ten months. Here a fleeting second, gone for the following golden hours.

The decade of my 40's (I've written here before) was plain ol' enchanted. And although the start of my new 50's decade hasn't felt quite so magical--still--the daily lessons continue, guiding me to more peaceful tomorrows if not always outward, then certainly inward, where God dwells with me.

And where He hangs out, well, that's one glorious place to be. This is one thing I know.

So. It came to me this morning so clearly, yet simply, that therein lies the explanation for my inner happiness even though all the world may have grandchildren (or houses with everything, extra money, stand-out talent, a 30-year-old's body, a vacation home or 300 comments after every blog post) while I don't:

God is my portion.

He completes every incomplete equation in my Life, so much so that, on most days, I don't even notice anything as being missing. The potential for peace of mind, joy in tiny things, contentment-on-the-way-to-change, well, always I feel it's here and waiting for my next move.




*****


Colossians 2:10
"And you are complete in Him, which is the head of all principality and power..."



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I believe everyone needs a magical place of wonder, meditation and escape and well, here is mine. My front porch.



Oh, out there, when the sun is shining, lovely things happen. I smile like a Cheshire cat and think huge thoughts, simple ones, too. I gaze out windows and dream and feel, for awhile anyway, that the entire world is one revolving, happy place. And out there on my porch, well, it is. The world is whatever I want it to be for those few sunny moments I get to spend out there.

There are even happy cats sitting in windows on our front porch. This is Farrah, Naomi's adorable cat who looks up at you and squints her pretty green eyes while rising up on her tip-toes:



Her sister, Ginger (a.k.a. One Mean Kitty) also hangs out on our porch on sunny days as well as Sammy who resembles a big black bear (think I'm kidding?)

Everyone needs a magical, secret place (even if everybody else knows about it). Maybe yours is down at the local Starbucks. Or at TJ Maxx or the mall. Or in your backyard, your Mom Cave, the local park or the 1950's movie theater downtown.

But wherever, I hope you, also, can retreat and renew and re-energize, even while this world spins crazily. A place where you breathe deep and dream and pray and maybe even sing. Where your soul, your spirit, get restored and where you can be you. 

And where you and God can hang out while He promises you everything--eventually--will be all right.



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"Be it unto you even as you have believed." ... Matthew 8:13



******

So yesterday I called my mom to thank her for the funny birthday card she'd mailed to Tom. My mom was so cute. Kept inserting her new beau's name into every subject of our conversation: I went with Phil to his doctor's appointment. Phil and I have walked over 400 miles in the last four months. When Phil and I watch tv on the couch, Sweetie Pie (her dog) likes to sit in between us.

Is that adorable or what?

Especially when a year ago, my mom was still sorely missing my dad, still feeling lonely. But now when I call her she always sounds practically giddy.

Also this morning I thought how Tom is really enjoying his time of unemployment. How he's turning computer time, tv time, relaxation time into a whole art form. And how God has, amazingly, above and beyond, taken care of us financially. 

Also? I felt grateful for Naomi's three cats who wander downstairs now, freely.  And how, most likely, Tom and I will bring home two cats of our own and the way I need to believe that maybe they'll be even cooler and just as dear as Lennon was, as opposed to believing no cat will even come close.

Oh! I so desire to live my days expecting more. Expecting that the future will trump my enchanted past and that surely! goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life. 

And may I never take the easy way, you know, sailing downstream into pessimistic, sad places where whole crowds of people, even Christians, end up, complaining away their hours and believing for more of the same sad times ahead.

Instead, may I stop putting silly limits upon God. May believe bigger and always swim upstream in faith, using the strength of joy.

*****


"Now unto Him that is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that works within us...." ... Ephesians 3:20




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