Kicked By a Mule

"It's the most amazing thing. She falls in a well, and her eyes go crossed. She gets kicked by a mule, and her eyes aren't crossed anymore!"

Ah, the insight that comes from Classic movies. There is a chance I need to throw myself down a well. Maybe that will shake me up enough to get my head on straight. It's one of those perfect storms of busy in my life, but there's nothing left to take out. I'm down to a few things: food, writing deadline, my family, homework, work, sleep, and maybe cleaning. And pants. Ok FINE. I'll put on pants. And coffee. 

Coffee goes in the food category for some people. For me it's in a subcategory with oxygen. 

I still have Bible study once a week. I'm something like 23 weeks into something like 35 weeks of Revelation. This is my time. My time down here. (See what I did there? Goonies never say die) 

I could cut this and have my Monday evenings back, but it's been pretty powerful. And I could skip a lot of it, but I want the notes. The notes are my favorite part. So, for now, I'll remain. Because cutting off a group of feisty old ladies who pray for you, seems poorly timed when you're going through so much. 

My writing conference is in two Wednesdays. It will be a lot of work while I'm there, but at least I'll have a beautiful view. Don't worry. I'll share pictures.

Lord, please let their coffee be good. Amen.  

January

Whirlwind has got nothing on us. When's the last time I cleaned properly? Couldn't say. Changed my sheets? Probably a couple weeks. Sat face to face with my first husband? Can't remember. January has a knack for rushing in and sweeping us up, doesn't it? 

A co-worker stopped mid-sentence today and said, "what the heck? Is next week really February?"

"Yes. Ridiculous," I replied wearily. 

I'm refusing to believe it just flashed by me. I won't accept that it whizzed around like one of those janky firecrackers we threw around when I was a kid. I think they were called flowers. I'm taking stock. I'm archiving our accomplishments.  I'm inventorying my blessings:

My daughter posed for senior pictures. And she's beautiful, so I stared at them for a smallish eternity. 

Then she had the nerve to pass her driving test. Come tomorrow, she will be insured and driving herself to school come 9 aye em. I love this and hate it at all the same time. 

I did in fact date my favorite boyfriends. Several times actually. 

I've made it to the gym 18 out of 28 days. 

I've more than doubled my rate of gym days. 

I applied to and was accepted to begin a master's in theology with an emphasis in urban ministries at Grand Canyon University. I begin tomorrow. 

I fully and completely edited 6 chapters of my book. I know those mean the same thing. It's irony. I'm working on adding literary elements to my writing. 

Layla Grace was a boss at shooting on her rifle team. She took bronze in the junior Olympics. Bronze. She also is the number one shooter in the state at the JV level. Don't make her mad. Just don't. 

I realized I can't do every ambitious adventure, so I've stepped back, and let go of, and reclaimed my dreams and Involvment. 

I know it doesn't seem like it when you look up there at that crazy list, but I really have said "no". And I meant it. Because I can't possibly be a light to those around me if I'm running by them so quickly they only see a flash. How can I pour into someone God brings near if I don't take the minutes needed to look them full in the face? Lock eyes. Take a moment to pray for discernment and direction. I can't. 

The answer is I can't. So I won't live that crazy life. I'll open my grip and hand over a few fears and a few responsibilities until I feel the weight shove off my shoulders. 

Because really, here's what matters: my Jesus, my husband, my children. Everything else is just icing. 

Blech

I made up that word. It's the sound I make when something is gross or lame or more than I feel like handling at the moment.
It's the noise in my throat when I hear Beth Moore tell me she waited 16 years between hearing God's call and finally stepping into it.

It's the sound I feel when I think of my friend's 17 year old who just arrived to his temporary, but long term, room. In prison.
It's the feeling I have listening to my stomach grumble knowing two of my boys threw up this week (one on the counter. One on the carpet. Cool. )
It's the feeling I have all the way to my bones when God so subtly reminds me of the writing I have before me that I am procrastinating like a freaking champion.
It's the noise that represents the disappointment when I realize I am living out Paul's ever cryptic "I do what I do not want to do…" which always makes me think of Abbott and Costello.

It's the sound in my gut when I know I am supposed to be doing something else. I don't know fully what. But I miss my kids. I am either supposed to stay home and give up on this full time life of teaching or pray for better organization and six more arms to be a full-time working mom of five children.

Blech.

I went to a job interview because I love teaching English as a second language, and there was an opening for a part-time professor. Two things happened.

I spent one hour in the chair: ten minutes interviewing and being offered the job and 50 minutes counseling my interviewer. She is nearly old enough to be my mother and a wife and a mother of one child. She is a very impressive woman who spent that time asking me how I maintain balance of work and family. Amazingly, I had some answers. Rather God knew what she needed to hear. She was amazed when I said I couldn't work four nights a week because my husband and kids are my priority. She couldn't understand my choice. She spoke of her hurting daughter who always complained of missing her because she worked so much. It was a glimpse into a life I have been mindful to avoid, but also a life eerily mirroring parts of my own all of a sudden. Under my breath I mumbled. Can you guess it? Yes.

Blech. And then,

I caught a glimpse of an alternate life.
Maybe I could stay home. We could lose our car payment (which we loathe anyway) and I could homeschool my littlest rugrats again and make a little extra dough as a professor and (and this is just the cherry) watch my new neighbor's brand new. Teeny tiny. Gray Brown baby. What? That's his name. I am not kidding, nor would I want to be. He's the best baby currently in the world.

I would cut my salary in half. I would lower my expenses only a smidgeon. But my family would be overly blessed (if I do say so myself). And then today wouldn't have ripped my heart a bit tinier and made the word Blech wrench in my throat.

Instead it would have felt perfectly at home spending time with Samuel. I teared up in the backyard when he helped me fill a bird feeder. Something is not quite right.
Blech.