a little nervous...

Everyone who reads this, please pray for me tomorrow, Friday, December 16. I have to talk to my boss to tell him I will not be able to be a drama director because I am going to be taking seminary classes. I don't think he will be very happy with me, and I'm almost sure he will try to talk me out of it, and I'm afraid he'll get mad at me, and I know you non-people-pleasers may not understand this but it is torture for me!

My Eternity is Not a Wal-Mart Parking Lot

I wasn't feeling well about a week ago. It was about 5:00 or 6:00 in the evening, I was tired, I was cold, and I just wanted to go home and curl up under a quilt. However, I was convinced that my head weighed five pounds more than it had the day before, and I wanted some medicine. Glaring flourescent lighting, crying children, and obstacle course of determined shoppers, stray carts, and meandering customers made me feel even more tired than did my classes of high school freshmen, but I went forth to Wal-Mart get my medicine anyway. I braved the venture without incident, but I was about to start my car to leave the parking lot, shivering and sick, weary and worn, my eye happened to catch an elderly woman, slowly but steadily hobbling towards the entrance with a cane. Then I noticed the car beside me, hatchback open as a mother was loading groceries into the back, two little boys running and climbing around the car, another child in her arms. She eventually turned her attention away from the groceries to put the child in a car seat and work to corrall the two rambunctious ones into their seats as well. She looked tired, and I was sure there was a lot of night left ahead of her. Everyone I observed looked tired. Everyone was cold. And, I, therefore, shivered in lonely, weary silence as well. This shouldn't be the bulk of life, I thought. Loading and corralling and stepping around and avoiding people in the freezing air so that we can go home and go to sleep and do it all over again isn't what we are living for. At least, it shouldn't be what we are living for. Thank goodness there is more. Thank goodness there is light and goodness and grace and leisure and warmth and comfort and rest and refreshing and love, yes, and love in life, and these dreary miserable moments are only moments. I hope that mother of three knows that. I hope she knows that she isn't alone in raising those three kids - or even that she and her husband aren't alone in it. I hope that elderly woman knows that whatever dreams have come true as well as whatever disappointments have come to pass, that she is pursued by a loving Father. Thank goodness that my eternity is not in that Wal-Mart parking lot. I hope others realize it as well.

simply

"God, your God, chose you out of all the people on Earth for himself as a cherished, personal treasure. God wasn't attracted to you and didn't choose you because you were big and important - the fact is, there was almost nothing to you. He did it out of sheer love, keeping the promise he made to your ancestors. God stepped in and mightily brought you back out of that world of slavery, freed you from the iron grip of Pharaoh king of Egypt. Know this: God, your God, is God indeed, a God you can depend upon." - Deuteronomy 7 - The Message

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How do Christmas lights break from the time you store them away in January to the time you take them out again in December? They just sit there all year.

lunch break

I wonder how my grandmother is doing. I have to be honest: I really don't think about her as much as I should. Of course I do think of her, though. I talk to her and love doing nice things for her. I'm thrilled that I pulled her name from the family Christmas gift hat and that I will get to go shopping for her. I love buying clothes for her, and I know she loves wearing them. But, last night I realized how little I have sat down and deeply thought about what she must be feeling right now. I was trying to motivate myself to grade some essays, and, wanting to listen to some soft, warm instrumentals, I put a CD in entitled, Winter on the Moor, which I received for Christmas a few years ago. As I listened, the feelings I was experiencing in Winter of 2002 came back to me, and I felt like I was sitting at my desk in Covenant House, reading for my literature classes and researching best practices for my education classes, missing my dear friends who had moved away, mulling over my confusion with the boys in my life, and still enjoying the knowledge that Lydia was just across the hall, Melissa was three doors down the hall, and several friends were within a mile. I can remember being lonely and confused in those moments, yet, last night, I longed to be back in that little corner in my college town. As much as that time held confusion and apprehension, important, precious memories from that winter and spring are locked in my heart. I grow sentimental when I reminesce of those days. And then, last night, I began thinking about Grandma. Grandpa died this past summer, just two days after my grandma's brother died suddenly of a heart attack. I wonder what Grandma feels like at night. What memories float through her mind, leaving aches in her heart. She's had so many wonderful moments in her life. She was smart and popular in high school, she did well in nursing school, and was pursued by the man who would become her husband. She has four great kids she talks about and ten wonderful grandkids she brags about. I wonder what piece of the past she wants so desperately to be the present. So many wonderful memories are locked in her heart, and I can't imagine how those memories can cause anything but pain for her right now. How does she feel as she watches my brother get ready for a wedding? How did she feel when my cousin excitedly showed her her engagement ring? Was she filled with joy? Or was she full of pain, remembering the time of her life when she had the ring, when she was planning her wedding? That's a pain I can't heal. It's a pain I know just a little about. What is comforting Grandma tonight? I hope she's praying. I hope she's finding comfort in God tonight. But I know she still hurts. I'm sorry Grandma. I wish I could do more.