Yesterday we chatted.

Yesterday, while I was staring out the window with my hands over my mouth, deeply contemplating the drastic turn I suspected my life might be taking in the near future you came to my door with bright eyes and asked, "Do you want to see what your life is about?"

I outright gawked because you couldn't have known what I was thinking. Your feet weren't even on the floor; you were practically Flintstone-ing it, repeatedly turning and beckoning me with a scooping left hand. "Come on! Come and see this." You don't look that excited except about the biggest or the neatest things.

I think I asked you to repeat what you'd said because I was the superlative of incredulous. It wasn't a common question you'd posed but also your timing was too much.

You probably didn't read my facial expression as fearful and dreading but just caught off-guard because how could you know? How could you know what I'd heard in yesterday's sermon and what had just popped up in the video I was watching for research?

How could you know that I was sat at my desk telling Jesus that He knows I don't want to go? I wanted to tell Him all my objections...the things I hate and the things I would [lose]* but instead I asked myself without words, "how can I say no to You?"

I wanted to argue why I should stay (geographically) here but I had to admit that I would rather be wherever He wants to use me. I had to admit off the edge of a breathtaking cliff that I don't know what's best for my life and I don't know where He wants to use me.
*Jim Elliot

I care about the Kingdom and I care about the Kingdom most and now, when I don't know where I'll live or what I'll do, I need to tune up my life to Kingdom standards.

I need to tune up my life. It would be hard to leave.

But...because the Truth makes sense to me and because the base pairs shifted in my DNA to incorporate the sermon I heard yesterday, I confess that I "owe it to the nations because [I] owe it to the Lamb".

I tried to look out across to see that I could give up everything, to see that some things would really hurt to forfeit and to see that He must still and always be eternally worth it.

Big sigh.

I felt sadness and the terror that is pre-grief rather profoundly. (I knew I would ultimately say yes.) I know I can't detour around Nineveh.


So I tracked your scooping left hand. You showed me a website for an Unreached Peoples missions org. My breath caught in my throat. You continued talking - preambling - and were focussed on the screen enough to miss my bulging eyes and clasped hands.

I was desperately praying in my head, "Don't show me [this country], don't show me [this country]."  I wanted nothing confirmed.  I wanted nothing to come up over and over again "'in the craziest places!". 


I watched the video and, for a group that wants to recruit believers to go to the ends of the earth with the Greatest Message, I found they did very well.  They minced no words but bared the truth about risk, pain, discomfort, loss and whatever is the worst, by earthly standards.

I watched and my heart rate increased.  My leg started shaking.  I covered my mouth in all sorts of ways (ask a body-languageologist...there's a reason we do it).  I was relieved you never spun round because I didn't want you to see me freaking out.

The video drilled further and further into my soft spot for serving Jesus.  I started to cry.  Then the video stopped and you turned around.  I walked away a little bit.  I wanted to speak but the crying thing that I was fighting made it difficult.  I couldn't look at you because if you were mirroring any of my sadness, I would have lost it.

I finally blurted in a watery voice, "I don't wanna go," and promptly covered my mouth again.  I told you that you had impeccable timing.  I told you I was just thinking about this stuff at my desk when you came and called me over.

I told you I had heard, when we were praying to close the sermon - the best sermon on missions I've ever heard -, the name of a country to which I've always said I didn't want to go.  You laughed a little at that which helped.  Levity helped.

I probably tried to explain a little more why I was so emotional, standing there in your office, not looking at you.  But then I kept resorting to the refrain: "I don't wanna go....I don't wanna go."

And...
...I think you actually know me well enough that I didn't need to explain the layers beneath that statement.  You know I would go but that it would be unfathomably difficult.

You said, in the calmest voice and levellest tone, "Believe me: if you did go it would be a far greater loss for me than it would be for you."  At this I laughed and the tears were done.  (Thanks.)  I told you that wasn't possible.

You told me you didn't know where I'd end up but that you didn't think I was going to stay here forever.  I nodded slightly and "mm-hmm"-ed quietly in agreement.  [I do think that's true but I will fight tooth-and-nail to leave well.]

You told me for not the first time that you think I'd make a great missionary.  I don't know what that means and I secretly want you to be wrong. 

You told me what you also mentioned in the sermon yesterday, that you would never tell your own girls (your young daughters) not to go somewhere that God was calling -- no matter the cost, the risk, the probable danger.  This resonated loudly with a thought that's been rolling around in my head for a week or so.  The age difference doesn't work out but you seem to care for me like the father I never had.


You seem to be interested and invested and spiritually paternal in a way that I can't thank God enough for.  I can't.


It suddenly seemed fitting that I could cry in your office. I suddenly didn't mind and I was glad I wasn't posturing. 


We talked more and I felt better.  I told you a bit about the trajectory I thought my life would take, in terms of foreign missions.  We even talked about martyrdom.  You made some suggestions and encouraged me implicitly. 

I know you don't have the answer for me and I know that God is good.  I know that His timing is His timing; I know that He changes hearts.  I know that I want most to serve Him and I know that if I get uprooted, it's only a few more decades before I'm Home for good.

Well, it's after midnight and I should be asleep but I can't even tell whether I'm tired.

It has been a very emotionally-wrenching day but it's good.

There have been more ups and downs than I could have predicted but I thank God for enabling me to weather them.

My life seems different these days. It's hard to get used to. There is much to think about and consider. There are problems to tackle.

I'm too tired to sleep...

I have this big project at Work B that is eating my head. In truth, it's optional so I won't tear my hair out over it but I think it's a worthwhile project so I'm hacking away.

I think I got annoyed today because I haven't hit that sweet spot where the tools, the big picture and the process all become clear and I can develop an efficient system to blaze through to the end. (I adore hitting that sweet spot. It gives me stamina like you wouldn't believe.)

It may be right around the corner (I'll do a bit of work away from the computer tomorrow, to pool some patience) or it may never come. But, as I'm 1/3 finished, this should be OK. Hack, hack, hack.


Tensions in both workplaces has left me feeling trapped.

Reading Acts 8 has reminded me about the Gospel, that simple, glorious, priceless message.

Chatting with two dear friends on the phone this evening for a combined three-plus hours was both energising and draining.

The ol' eyelids are dropping. Let's call it.

[meant to post this just after 1am.]

It's a little bit like I should be asleep right now...but I'm not.

I feel weird and not overly tired so I'm staying up to blog.

I've had more freedom and free time in the past five days than I've really known what to do with. I'm not 100% sure what's changed but I'm not bothered. That said, Saturday afternoon surprised me when it wanted company but by around 10pm, I was ready for alone time again.

I've enjoyed being able to work through life with a not-overwhelming amount of pressure or demands on my time, emotions, performance, etc.

I think my life is in transition between seasons which does feel a little weirdy but is also neat and anticipatious.

(Or maybe I've just had a weird week.)



This afternoon I was struck with a thought that's popped up several times in the past little while and today it struck hard enough to prompt some writing.

(I would like to be less vague in this but I need to be careful.) For about six or seven weeks from late February into early April I dismally mishandled a situation I couldn't make sense of. I mishandled it day after day, week after week, decision after decision. I wasn't getting it.

When I finally clued in, I made adjustments, collected the three scraps of dignity I could find and drove my ego to the ER.

Things got better in the first week of April in a way that surprised and relieved me. There was a real patching up--but no removal of scars.


Today, at the beginning of May and for almost two weeks, I've felt glad for the scars. They're still tender from March but here in May they're tough enough to protect me.


[What is this peculiar sensation which quite resembles learning from my mistakes???]


I run my fingers over the gnarled flesh and brutish stitching and I feel gratitude. I'm glad they're serving a purpose and I'm glad I didn't need amputation.

I'm learning and this is better. It's still painful but it's OK. I'm OK. I'm future-sad, as I think there's a few more beatings on the horizon and then maybe big loss, but it's OK. [Christ-centred consolation with Scripture reference.]

summer is really not my favourite* season

but I noticed a few things this morning that made me glad for its advent this year.
*I am really hating converting to British/Canadian spellings in this instance.  Really disliking it.

When I came downstairs this morning to head out for work, I only had to slip on my Chucks. Until today I've been sweaters as well and it was still just last week when I was wearing my coat, scarf and mitts outside.  About a week before that I gave up on boots.
On top of this, the sun comes up earlier ("earlier"...) such that I don't have to turn on the light in the lobby ("mudroom") to find my stuff in the morning.  While flipping a switch is not a big deal on its own, the switch is as far out of the path from the door to our apartment to the front door that it's outright annoying. Like... it couldn't be more awkward.

So.. for an easy morning exit, Summer, I thank you.


The other thing I noticed over the past little while, gazing out the same window in the living room to the same tree in the backyard, is that buds are fantastic.  Buds are neat and amazing in some way.  I appreciate the budding trees I get to admire down the street to work at 6.30 in the morning.  There's a tree with white buds/petals/awesomeness on the opposite side of the street that I'm afraid to cross over and inspect because I already think it's stunningly beautiful from afar.  Nature is neat(ure).

---

Last night at music rehearsal I started playing the intro to a song we don't sing often but that I like loads and like to play on my own from time to time.  One of those pieces that is a great marriage between melody, chords and lyrics.  If I could write a book about the inner workings of that phenomenon, I would.  From all my playing around I've found cool things to add and one of them was a major-ninth (or major-second, as I usually think of it) for the opening Tonic chord (and the one four bars later).

So, doing something that I thought was cool to see if anyone else agreed, while people were still talking as we hadn't officially started the song, I dropped an Am9 (RH in 2nd position), with what I want to call a reverse-glissando (but I don't know if that term exists): I staggered (rolled?) the notes from highest to lowest pitch which is the opposite of what is almost always done.
All three vocalists turned and said, "Ooooh!" followed by variations of "I like that." It does sound a bit thunderous and brooding (which is what the lyrics evoke).


The only way I can really describe the choice is that is sounds like the song.  The A-minors in the verse of Praise Adonai sound like they want to have a major-second in them.


The guitarist agreed a moment later and said I should definitely "do that".  I was quite pleasantly surprised that they were so onside because it's legitimately out of the box.  There is very real dissonance in that chord and I think it works so well. They went with me and the song sounded wonderful.  One of those sadly-rare, gorgeous cases where we all seem to forget we're "rehearsing" and we lapse into corporate musical worship.  And imagine the coincidence that the song itself sounds technically better, anyway.

You made me coffee again this morning. But today you put it in my travel mug so you didn't have to wait til I walked in to pour the boiled water like you do literally every other day. This is really cool.

Thursday before last I needed help.

I have a pair of stud earrings that broke a couple weeks ago and it saddened me because I really liked them, they were unique and they were a gift.

It was just one of the pair and it was the pin that snapped right off the decorative front. My boss, who is very handy and likes the challenge of fixing any random thing brought to him, had fixed another pair last week and inspired me to bring him the three other pair I had been considering asking about.

Two pair were fixed with pliers and by eyes that can take apart any structure. The stud earring, however, was snapped; it didn't have disconnected re-connectable parts so the super glue came out.

It stuck well and looked good but he told me if it didn't hold, he'd take it to work to have it welded. (I hoped it wouldn't come to that because I'd feel immediately cast as high-maintenance.)

I wore them Thursday and with my head at a funny angle, napping on the couch, I heard a depressing, muted "pop" and reached up to my lobe to confirm I had in fact become unglued. Sigh.

The decorative front was in hand but the pin and backing remained in my ear, the front end buried. It bulbed at the end and had dried glue on so I couldn't pull it out through the back. It was also misaligned enough inside my ear that I couldn't push it out the front so I could remove the backing and pin via their normal respective sides.

I was really stuck. It was really stuck.

I pulled and pulled and wiggled and squiggled but no dice. I didn't really want to ask for help cos that makes me a weeine but I wanted the thing out. I can handle physical pain inflicted by others much better than when it's inflicted by myself.


So after trying once more thirty minutes later, I gave up and admitted with mixed emotion that I absolutely needed the help of someone else.


When my boss got home and saw the broken jewelry on the table he piped, "Oh no - it broke again??" with a note of personal disappointment. I turned round and replied quietly, almost wincing, "Yeah. And the back is still in my ear."

His eyes widen. "Really?!"

I nod, growing in squeamishness, begging myself to stop even as the words leave my mouth: "Aaaand I think I need your help getting it out."

He's still looking a little shocked, maybe also still deciding whether I'm pulling his leg.

He barely makes a reply and then a kid has come a-distracting. I'm glad because I still need to steel myself. It's a vulnerable position, you see.

From opposing ends of the kitchen table we chat a bit about everyday anythings and then during a natural break in the conversation he bounds out of his seat because he's suddenly remembered. "OK--let me see that earring."

It's the let's-get-down-to-business or I'm-going-to-solve-this-problem tone of voice usually reserved for getting the kids organised to run errands or for the workplace where he is a supervisor.

I tilt my head and would have strangled anything that was in my whiteknuckling hands. He does a cursory look and touch to assess. He steps back and blurts - in different words - that he's nervous about hurting me.

I tell him he hasn't hurt me yet so he resumes. He fiddles around and I destroy the needle on the Cringe-O-Meter.

I'm not sure it matters who I might have had working that intently at my ear; it's the required proximity, the fleshy, boneless delicateness of an ear lobe, and the jagged end of my earring's pin that made me squeam.

Further, as a predator, my eyes are at the front of my head where my ears aren't so I couldn't even watch what was going on.


[Aside: In truth, I wanted to allow myself to be uncomfortable because I wanted to extend my trust. I wanted to push myself to trust, particularly with something I'd have wanted to manage on my own.]

He was close and focused. I was anxious and silent.

It was a peculiar, intimate and still moment where I could only wait and hope. I was at his mercy, I guess, but I believed he would be kind.

Then it was painful. I tried to minimize my wincing because I didn't want him to chicken out but after four or five grimaces, he backed up again, told me he didn't know what to do and that the face I was making wasn't helping. (If I wasn't so focused on handling the pain, I would have laughed at his squeamishness.)

I assured him that when the pain became too much I would let him know and he must have believed me because he dove back in.  I really did not want to have to go home like this and to figure out some third option for extraction but I think I also really wanted to be helped.

He tells me he wants to separate the two pieces but that he can't get ahold of the pin.  He asks whether I'd be scared if he went and got a pair of pliers.  I exclaim that I was just thinking that might be a good option but didn't say it because it sounded dumb.

By the time I finish that sentence I spy in my periphery the half-accessory in my friend's hand.  He's showing me, wordlessly.  I gawk.  "What did you do??" I blurt.

I presume he shrugged his shoulders as he admitted under duress, "It just came out!"

I felt deep relief quickly.  (I like that feeling.)  I like that the discomfort hadn't been for naught.  I can handle pain for a purpose or with a conceivable end but pointless pain is simply maddening (though still endurable when you expect the Creator to use it for His glory).

I was grateful (and I said as much).

[Editor's note: To be honest, I felt more gratitude and relief because he wasn't uncomfortable being there.  He didn't say no and he didn't look awkward.  I didn't write this post to create a metaphor or a veiled account of something else, something more important or substantial. I wrote what happened because it was a unique experience but here at the end I find there are aspects of the story that touch--not painlessly--on deeper verities.]

well, it's late.

The list of things to think about, to consider, to improve, it keeps growing.  It keeps growing and I feel overwhelmed. I believe the list will have an end, either when things genuinely get better (read: better enough) OR when I find a way to stop making lists (this comes through refinement of character).  This breathless treadmill isn't lifelong; I don't believe it.
As for now, I hope I'm laying tracks for the subway, not putting cab companies on speed-dial [to move several million commuters each day].


[Editor's note: This is one of those weird posts where I can't decide if I want to write the way that feels natural and most fun or if I want to write to be well understood by many.  This is why I end up with bracketed additions.]


I am far more tired than I can handle.  I've been tired for days.  Mercifully, I've been fueled more by delight in relationship than by caffeine for several days this week because of a conversation, a comment or a visit with someone dear to me and being fueled by that delight and that little inner pocket of satiety really is a treasure and I'm thankful. 


(meant to post this at 22.30 last night but my pause to close my eyes and think led to full-on slumber.)

welcome to Wednesday.

My wake-up text came at 5.33 and I replied, "Morning.  Is it Friday?"  Perhaps that's how I feel.  I thought about stuff, turned off my alarm, turned off the heat, rolled over and accidentally fell back asleep.  Yes.  Three minutes after six and I woke up again (on what trigger, I don't know).

Ooh.  I just remembered the NHL trade deadline (....as if even those words mean anything to me).  I think I will try to care for the next two days and do a bit of research.  I'll see where it takes me.


J (the elder) hasn't woken up yet and I'm OK with it.  These brothers provoke one another so when they're separated it generally makes a night-and-day difference.  I appreciate it.  B is having epic ninja cavern battles (in a free game he downloaded to my iPhone) and I took a break from journalling to blog(galing).  Private journal to public joural, I guess. [I wonder how many people have named their public journal "Captain's Log" or "Captain's Blog".  That's now funny to me.]

Hmm.  If I could ever teach these kids to find their indoor voices, I'd be happy.

I miss Stephen Colbert.  Apparently my brain is now sifting random bits of code.  I guess I went to sleep too quickly last night.  I don't mind.  Any mood but devastated-sad is fine by me.

--


OK. 

I think I just discovered something epic. I just took a break where those hyphens are to write a couple sentences in the private journal that's still lying in front of me aaaand now I don't have to swallow my unpublishable thoughts or put them on ice til I'm done typing.  Everything gets to come out, I just have to shift between Column A and Column B.  This could be the start of a beautiful process.  Yum.



---

The Blue Jays lost last night.  I'm not too broken up about it but I'm slightly miffed.  I want to see how this season will go.  It snuck up on me!




---


It was on Sunday afternoon that I started looking forward to going to going to the apologetics-ish class that we've had two weeks of.  There were two Friday-Saturday combos in March, a break for Easter weekend and then we're on this Friday-Satty again. 
It's weird that my anticipation came back spontaneoushly, not like my anticipation built over the 13 days instead of six.  I suppose it could be that I was so tunnel-vision focussed on our Easter Sunday service that I could only think about the class when that service was over.

Anyways, I'm excited and I don't even know how to put it into words.  (I hope the information sinks in and that I use it well.)  The course is taught by my boss, who is possibly the most consistently engaging speaker I've ever known personally.



Yesterday (just a little Tuesday), I was in the auditorium working from the desktop computer.  My boss came in to check out something on the stage.  Our coworker came in later, probably half-looking for our boss (they had a meeting soon) and half-looking to not be working.  He sat in a pew near the back, waiting and using his phone. When my boss was done what he was doing and started heading out, I asked if I could quest him something.  (Those were my words and he didn't blink.)

I handed him a copy of the Holy Bible in the New International Version and asked how much of a problem it would be for me to stop reading at a certain point in a psalm.  I showed him which psalm, telling him I've heard it's bad to take verses out of context and choosing to omit the context I wanted the psalm for, knowing he woud figure it out easily.  He answers on about three different levels (my favourite kind of answer!).


He speaks long enough that it makes sense for me to take a seat in the pew next to my coworker while our boss perches on the back of the pew behind him, Captain Morgan-ing the pew in front.  He sits casually in a teaching position as the two of us casually sit to listen.  My coworker is back and forth between the phone and the speaker but I am on the edge of my seat literally, I have another NIV in my hand to follow along and I'm vaguely conscious about how I'm breaking eye-contact far less than normal.  I'm not making him uncomfortable and I'm not doing it on purpose, I just feel like a shrivelled and almost cracked sponge that's been submerged into cool water. 

I'm soaking it up and hanging on every word, sitting still in the hopes that if I don't stir, I won't remind him he eventually has to stop and go back to his day.  I'm aware this is a kind of teaser for the Friday-Saturday classes I'm longing for and I'm so glad for this impromptu Tuesday that will tide me over til then.  Seriously.  A parched sponge baking in the sun.  Oasis.

Don't look back in anger.

I wish I could do everything

but I guess I have to do one thing at a time.


There's a whole mess of stuff on my bed before me and I'm taking a break from patching to blog.  I've got "The Pink Panther Show" (1969-76) on, as well.

My blinds are drawn because I wanted some sunlight so whenever I'm looking at the telly, I can see how deliciously blustery it is outside.  I wish I had a reason to be caught in it.  I won't wish that at 06.08 tomorrow morning when I'm waiting for the bus.


This afternoon and early evening I've felt a little lost and I hate it.  Why do I think that if I can produce more I will feel better?


Now the urge to blog has passed because I've lost my nerve.  I'm glad to be patching because I want to wear these trousers tomorrow.  I'm also grateful for the friend who spontaneously called tonight and though we didn't talk about what's currently in my craw it was a good, encouraging, helpful, laugh-sprinkled conversation.  I should count my blessings instead of swearing when I get my thread caught.  I wonder what it'd be like if I said everything I thought aloud.


I always tell people I must heavily filter because I'd say things I regret (because I am inwardly a monster, you see) but maybe I'm more concerned about being known and about having too much of myself revealed.  I can't control it once it's outside!  I wish _______.  I wish for more.


I'm on my second cup of Orange Pekoe right now, the first being closely preceded by an Earl Grey.

I was let off work four hours before I expected to be and I'm sure that contributes to my feeling of lostness somehow.  I'm glad that I didn't have a pressing something to rush to and that I could instead make my way into Work B to take care of some things that would help take the edge off my short week.  I then proceeded to the grocery store and had the bitter-sweet experience of forgetting what it's like to buy veg and other cookable meal-part foods.  (I've been eating out and doing sporadic grocery shops for a while, you see.)

I decided it was time.  And I had the time!  I'm trying to make better decisions and take control of my life in a good way (if even a Christian can say that). I hope tomorrow is better.  I hope I know what to do!  It's not the day and sometimes it's not even the events.  I need to get my head straight.




I often think about writing on my hand a succinct phrase that will help me remember the thing I wish to keep at the forefront of my mind for a particular day, situation or season.  I keep saying that's silly and I loathe the idea of explaining it to anyone who might glimpse the ink -- or at least I loathe the idea of having to explain it repeatedly.  Today on the way home I wrote something on my hand but it wasn't the kind of thing I should write.  I wrote the weight of an adult's upper body funneled through the hands they've placed on my neck as they straddle me on the ground.  I'm not fighting.  Maybe I hope they take my life.  I wrote the punch in the face that I perpetually hope is coming; I wrote the physical beating that I want to last forever and that I hope disfigures me.


I wrote what I shouldn't have written.



You could argue that if I penned those words and meant them that I'm calling Jesus a liar.  I don't mean to do that.  But... William Cowper.  But, Psalm 13.



Be something.  Be right for me.


----

How long, O Lord?  Will you forget me forever?
   How long will you hide your face from me?

How long must I wrestle with my thoughts
   and every day have sorrow in my heart?
   How long will my enemy triumph over me?

Look on me and answer, O Lord my God.
   Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death;
my enemy will say, "I have overcome him,"
   and my foes will rejoice when I fall.

But I trust in your unfailing love;
   my heart rejoices in your salvation.
I will sing to the Lord, for he has been good to me.

Maybe bald would be a good look for me.

I think these kids are trying to make me tear my hair out.  Just kidding. 

But...you know.  Sometimes it's frustrating.  We had two calm and mellow days and now the mercy has lifted slightly so...yes.  This morning is a little balding.

They can't not bother each other.  They can't not try to incriminate one another.  Then "I'm not your best-best brother" comes out.  The ultimate weapon/insult/throwdown.

Sigh.  I'm fixing to bench them.  The next offense will bring down the hammer, I think.



Monday was funteresting.  I was praying (read: pleading) that it would be a morning I could handle.  I prayed they'd be easy to manage and it really was a surprisingly good day.

When I arrived in the morning, they both sat with me in the kitchen and we half-chatted.  Usually they're in the living room when I arrive and I go in to be with them after their dad leaves.  But this morning they had come to me and were just hanging out. 

On another morning, if they come into the kitchen to find me, it's to ask if they can use my phone or play on the computer.  But this morning J sat on the chair next to me and B next to us both and it was friendly chit-chat. 

My earrings were on the table and J picked them up to unravel them while B asked about them.  (He asked if I'd only brought one pair!  I suppose he thought my letting him choose would be a thing now.)  If J were any older I'd think he was feigning interest to be polite or have a point of connection with me but, in his uncomplicated mood in the uncomplicated moment, he was just focussed on untangling the jewlery which has many links and inter-hook-able parts.  I enjoyed the quietness and stillness of it.


Eventually they were interested in the computer and the phone and we migrated to the living room where I got some journalling done.  Miracle of all miracles, the TV stayed off until 7.50.  (It's usually on before I arrive at 6.30 and stays on the background forever.)  I like that we can be comfortable around one antoher like that.


I like that this Monday came off a Sunday where both kids gave me a hug as we parted ways after Sunday morning service at church.  B hugs me twice a day and lies on top of me whenever he can but J had only hugged me twice before Sunday and both times it was in extraordinary circumstances.  This time he just snuck in before B could, without a word, and without us even having a particular kind of connection that morning.  I think I felt humbled.  [I say, "I think," because I don't know if I even know what humility feels like these days.]


It gave me confidence that eiry1q
difikddkhidsjchsushucieduu384r84yr7kergypvoh'


[That would be B.]


It gave me confidence that the kids don't merely put up with me.  They haven't asked for me as much lately as they used to so when this stuff happens it's encouraging. 


What perplexes me today, however, is that J has given me a hug EACH DAY SINCE.  To go from one every three months to one three days in a row.... wow.  It makes me feel a greater weight of responsibility to be good to these kids.  To be good to them and for them.


Another pleasant surprise is that my not-coffee coffee has been made and ready for me every morning this week, too.  It's nothing I deserve.  It's very nice to know someone thought of me (a minimum of four minutes) before they saw me and did something unnecessary and inconsequential just to be kind. It does make my days start a little better.  Despite all the garbage, my half-coffee half-hot chocolate with soymilk ready for me when I walk in makes my day start a little better.



I am totally going to make the kids late for school, sitting here blogging.  Yikes.

There's nothing like it.

I brought three pair of earrings to work with me this morning because I couldn't decide which I wanted. I bring earrings with me almost every morning primarily because I want the extra 10 seconds to go toward getting to work on time. Secondarily it has become part of my routine to put earrings on while sitting at the kitchen table as I'm talking to my boss in the two to seven minutes we have to chat before he leaves for work. I take some comfort in that routine just like I take comfort in having something to do with my hands when stressed out in a conversation. (Our mornings are pretty unpredictable and odd.)

This morning he had left before I arrived so I pulled the three pair out while sat on the couch with the boys in the living room. I hadn't said much up til that point and as I'm typing, I feel grateful that they let me be quiet generally, as that's my natural state. Had never thought of that. That's neat. B was watching his brother do something but his attention snapped over to me as he heard the jewelry hit the coffee table. He watched me put one of each up to my sleeve and then asked what I was doing. I told him I was trying to decide a pair and, though I was certain I'd go purple cos I'd worn orange with this shirt last time and green in this lighting isn't what I thought in my dim bedroom thirty minutes prior, I asked him which ones he thought I should wear.

He developed a mild interest in my earrings a few months ago. Every now and then he'll comment on them or ask if he can put them in for me. (I like letting him put them in because it's fun dexterity skill practice and it's an extension of trust.) So, happy to have any means to engage with him, I ask for the fashion advice. He decides on the green ones pretty quickly, picking them up and telling me green is his favorite color. (I find this funny because purple is his favorite color.)

I put them in, reasoning I can change them later if it really looks horrible. A few hours later as I'm washing my hands in the loo at Work B, I look up and see the studs and it makes me smile in the warmest, funniest way. This morning was rough because I'm still trying to work for my worth and keep falling short. I can never do enough and cannot escape failure.

But, I saw the green earrings that B had selected and I smiled because I was wearing them for him. I recalled how quickly and how easily he had slid into the crook of my arm/torso the second I sat back on the couch that morning and how I had missed that. (I didn't see them at all the day before but on top of that, he and I haven't cuddled in a while.)

I appreciate how unreserved he is with his affection. Open and unthinking affection from a child is a unique thing. There's nothing like it. It's sweet that he elects to be close to me and it was a particular joy this morning to have his little cereal-eating, cartoon-watching self nestled in like he has no idea about the cares and weights on my shoulders. He has no idea. So we sat together and I wore the green earrings he'd picked for me.

I think something might be wrong.

I can't see very well.  I need help.

I'm blogging because I don't know how to fall asleep.  I don't know what to do. I don't know who I should talk to and I don't know what to say.



I'm ..... [something].  Something is wrong.  I just feel terrible.  Maybe I just need to sleep.  Maybe I shouldn't have eaten that pile of jagged metal shards.  Seems a bad idea now.



I don't want to let it out because I think I'll experience even more pain.  I don't want to talk about what I've done or what I'm thinking [though, obviously, I must want to talk about it on some level, else I wouldn't be writing this blog post].


What shall we say then?  I need help.  I really need help and I don't know who to talk to.  I don't want to talk to anyone...I kinda want to talk to everyone.  I kinda wish that when God the Father spoke to me He was audible.  (I kinda wish that and only sometimes.) 


Maybe I'm ashamed. Maybe it's shame that prevents me opening up.  I've made such a mess.  And.... I'm afraid I'll make it worse again, given the chance.



So...what do you do?  Keep working?  Keep your head down and keep working until someone decides you're worth something?  How many hours per week must I work before I am worth something?  I imagine it's  a minimum of 169. 



Finish the post, read some epistles and hit the hay.  That's the plan for my immediate future.

I gotta say: I like working the front desk.  I'm happy about how much I enjoy this because it's a job I've said I wanted for a very long time.  It would be unfortunate if I wanted something this much and found, upon getting it for the first (and now second) time that it wasn't what I wanted.

I also really like this stack of reusable paper that I've accrued.  It's mis-prints and unneeded music and whatever else that's blank on one side.  Having a supply of paper that I have no qualms about using freely means that I write, organise and make notes freely.  This is a gift.  Further, I've discovered I can put the paper in our photocopier without jamming it which gives me a little more freedom in printing (and photocopying) though I'm still far from liberal with that.  It makes me happy.



I was caught in a peculiar reusing action the other day and ended up blurting, "I guess I'm a conservationist at heart," and it shocked me, how much sense that made.  It resonated and part of me sighed, seeing a puzzle piece find its home.


I microwave for 57, 58 or 59 seconds when something needs to go in for "a minute" because the difference in cooking is so negligible but the difference to how soon the zero key gets worn out is significant.


I realised a year or two ago that life was too short to conserve all the notebooks and notepads and loose paper (and pens and labels and all manner of stationery items) that I have, waiting for the perfect purpose.  I've run through three notepads in about as many months because I re-write my rollover to-do lists every night before bed.  Even that process of refreshing the list to accurately reflect outstanding tasks, it makes my brain happy.

Anyhow, it's 1.37pm and I still have work to do (which delights me).  I love working in a passively productive environment.  I can't even put it into words. It's a slow day behind the desk but my Music Ministry work is steady, given that there's a rehearsal tonight and that our Easter service is right round the corner.  I look forward to it.


Other perks:

  *my frozen lunch was left here from Tuesday that I happily consumed today (cost: $0)

  *my strawberry-cheese strudel is finding a handsome partner in the chai tea I just brewed (cost: $0.16)

  *the kids' dad got the morning off work so I got to a) sleep in and b) get to the office when they ideally wanted me to, not when I was best able to (after dropping the kids off)
 

  *I get to use a desktop computer with a current OS that doesn't lag or have any limitations.  WOW, is that a blessing.  My work & multitasking rates have ballooned and on top of this I get to evaluate songs on CDs that have been passed to me for perusal and sitting on my shelf for weeks (..or months).

Amen and amen.

  *Oh, and I get to blog.

observatory

I see that it's well past my bedtime and I'm done all my important tasks for the evening. But, I don't quite feel like sleeping. In fact, I feel like stacking up as many things as possible to delay sleep as long as I can. It may be that I'm afraid to deal with my pre-sleep brain that basically downloads all the scraps from the day that I've put aside because they're too much for day brain (which NEVER runs out of ways to put off deep thinking).

Sigh.

I just convicted myself. I had more to write but apparently it's time for bed.

what a weird mode of existence.

I'm in the kitchen typing in silence except for the eldest fiddling with what sounds like Poker chips.


They came in and immediately fought for the opp speak to me first.  I gave it to the younger one who always speaks second because it takes him longer to get out of his boots and snowsuit and up the stairs to me.

[It's at this moment I wonder how often parents let their kids stay in more trouble or deeper trouble than they normally would if they didn't really want some peace and quiet besides. I'm honestly glad for the quiet and I feel weird about that.]

They both spoke, they overlapped and they told conflicting stories.  I'm listening and fighting for each of them to have space to talk.  I'm trying to picture them doing whatever their brother has accused them of to see if it fits.  I'm trying to see who's lying and trying to decipher if the youngest is yet able to fake-cry or not.  It didn't seem fake.  It's hard to look at him when he's that upset.


Once they were done and I had asked all my questions, B asked if he could have something to eat.  I laughed without humor when I said, "no," and next said they could both go to their rooms for a little bit. 

I was surprised to hear no argument but I think they were both aware they'd revealed their guilt.  Also, I realise as I'm typing, I've never sent them to their rooms before.  First, I wanted to separate them.  Second, timeouts can just be painful and third, I wanted to withdraw to my chambers before I made a ruling. 

They both seem guilty but the older one knows better and has been acting more meanly recently.  So, I don't know.  I'm half hoping their dad comes home before I have to follow up.  I did say I'd come in and get them, though, so I'd better figure this out.  (I could actually feel myself growing in respect for proper judges in our courts of law while I was listening to J speak.  I feel like I'm blindfolded because I've only got testimony and some knowledge of character.  But the cases they deal with.....with strangers, presumably...wow.  Respect.  And then I should think of the One who is Judge over the whole earth and be even more impressed with Him.  Huh.)