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The comedian Bill Engvall has a quick wit and a smart mouth. I love him. He originated the “Here’s Your Sign” comedic come backs to the redundant, stupid or just plain funny. When I’ve watched his comedy routine “Here’s Your Sign”, I’ve always wish I had come up with that gold mine little phrase. I’ve thought similar stuff countless times, especially when it comes to comments about my MS or I am in the path of an idiot. And yes, sometimes that idiot is me. I try to tame my tongue, but my brain acts like a over-indulgent grandma and if I’m not really careful, my mouth will inevitably let the mental lava of smart remarks spew. Tired? Fatigued? The rumblings of my thoughts are measurable sarcastic.
A while back, I was tired. I had driven almost an hour to my neurologist’s office where I sat for another hour with an IV bag tethered to my arm. As much as I adore my nurses there (I really do), I was a slug that day and a bit frustrated with the fact I had to drive even further (across town, but still) to have an MRI. All routine stuff to me, but nonetheless fatigue evoking. They left the “line” part in my arm after my IV treatment so I would not have to be stuck again when the MRI technician had to pump a contrast solution into my vein half way through my MRI experience. I’m always grateful for nurses with forethought. I’m usually brain-dead.
I’m not a huge fan of MRIs, but I am used to them. I don’t get claustrophobic when I’m conveyor belted into the MRI tube. They swaddle me in a warm blanket, give me ear plugs, click a hockey mask thing across my face and I’m in and out within 45 minutes. After all, they are inspecting my MS brain for lesions (little lightning bugs which chew on my nerves). Either the lesions I already have are behaving, hungry again, or they’ve invited more ravenous little lesion friends to my brain buffet. I always hope mine are full, have had a good burp at my expense and are just lying around on a nerve couch napping.
On my way to have my MRI scan, I noticed a sign. Now, remember I’m already extraordinarily pooped. The sign read “WE BUY GOD”. Huh? I slowed down.. The sign was one of those “put your own letters up” kind of sign you see in front of fast food joints. It was pointing to a pawn shop. Yep. A pawn shop! You KNOW I not only slowed down, but swerved into the middle of the road, took out my cell phone and snapped a picture. Actually, I took 2 because I shake a bit when I hold stuff and I did not want a blurry picture. Thankfully, no cars were coming nor were behind me at that moment. The day before, was rainy and the wind was whipping like crazy. I figured an “L” from the sign had probably been blown off into the grass because the “D” was slightly crooked. I could not stop laughing. A pawn shop advertising they buy God was hilarious. Here goes my mind….”Wonder what He goes for?” “If I walked in and told them I had God for sale, what would they say?” “How much does He weigh?” “Is He in good condition?” “Is He stolen?” “Is He visible for inspection?” “If I grabbed a random dude off of the curb, could I pawn him as God?” (No one I know knows what he really looks like….) “If they bought some dude from me, I’d have the money to build the studio I want and gas money for life..”
I do realize some reading this will not find this funny. Trust me. I’ve already had comments when I showed the picture to people. “That was a missed opportunity to share your faith.” “People so desperate for God that they advertise to buy him and you don’t go in….” Ok. I get ya. But, you have to remember the first paragraph of this blog. I have a smart mouth and a volcanically sarcastic sense of humor. I honestly think, after feeling like lead had been poured into my body, tired beyond tired, God was telling me “Here’s Your Sign…To Laugh!” “Lighten up, kiddo, you’ll be home soon.” “Laughter is the best medicine.” “Hee haw while you’re in that torpedo tube of an MRI.” “You can laugh and have MS at the same time, Bonehead.”
Thanks, God. I needed that sign. And, I did laugh. A lot.
I didn’t need to make a deep issue out of it. I didn’t need to stop and point out to the pawn people their “L” was missing from GOLD but I could tell them about God. I think, that would have embarrassed them or highly ticked them off. They wouldn’t wanna hear some out-of-town do-gooder spew religion and correct their signage. Plus, they were probably bigger than I am and I know pawn shop owners have guns. I just needed to laugh and go on.
I am very easily tempted to whip out a “Bill Engvall”. With the stuff people do and say…trust me, Bill is on the tip of my tongue at any given moment. I wobbly knocked into a door the other day and here comes Bill…”Knock knock, who’s there? Here’s your sign.” When I hear the words “But you look so good”, Here comes Bill…”I didn’t know dog doo looked that appealing.” I can’t get the right words out sometimes, so I tell people I folded forks and cooked underwear, when I meant to say I folded clothes and under cooked something. Here’s my sign. I can laugh about it.
Let’s all lighten up and laugh together. Get a chuckle out of life. Enjoy yourself and slow down to notice the funny stuff. It is possible to do that in a kind way, by the way. Just be careful when you are tired if you are prone to channel Bill Engvall….
Church today blew me away. Moons ago, I used to listen to a Christian group of 2 sisters and a brother called The Second Chapter of Acts. They were a tad on the pentecostal side and slightly hippie, however, their album “Mansion Builder” still plays in my mind as much as I still play that 33 LP record in my office. I was raised rather “conservative”, so there were not many of my friends who listened to this group. I didn’t care. Leave it to me to not be mainstream. I was fascinated with these siblings’ ability to harmonize as well as with the words to their sometimes quirky sounding music as they sang their thoughts on the Holy Spirit and on the book of Acts in general. I found myself humming this morning. Today, we Cumberland Presbyterians celebrated Pentecost. Our church was draped in the dancing colors of fire and wind socks blew in the invisible movement of the air conditioning. One little 3 yr. old boy said it was “be-oo-tee-ful”. It was. Can’t describe it any better.
I’ve heard the words to Acts Chapter 2 for years. The wind, the flames, the tongues, the gifts of the Holy Spirit to the body of believers never ceases to captivate my imagination. Check it out. People chillin’ and waiting, probably impatiently, for what God was gonna do next after Jesus skeedaddled, then feeling as if they were suddenly catapulted into a new world as the doors and windows blew open one day. That was just the beginning. Their stuff was tossed around and I’m sure someone was trying to catch flying scrolls and pillows whirling about. Every hair was out of place and my guess, sticking straight up. (Enter the Phyllis Diller look.) Lives were never the same. Still aren’t. (I sorta swiped that from my preacher, but I just love it.)
The drastic and dramatic had to make eyes bug out and heads shake. What was God doing? Shaking things up. What were the people doing? Shaking in their sandals, but being given intelligible direction. Being blown to the far ends of the earth, but guided along the way. The Holy Spirit. God got personal within each and every one, blowing new zeal all up in their faces and a jet stream of fresh urgency into their hearts.
Pentecost. Totally awesome. Totally unpredictable and wonderful. Totally “be-oo-tee-ful.” When was the last time God moved over you, messin’ up your Sunday “doo”, asking you to play in the dirt..the dirt of humanness? When was the last time you wondered, “what now?” Let the wind blow. When was the last time you looked into unfamiliar places and questioned if you can make a difference? Let the wind blow. When have you been wind-blown, Holy Spirit style, tossed into a situation, different or even uncomfortable and left your hair spray at home? Let the wind blow.
The wind howled my direction 10 yrs. ago with the diagnosis of MS. It blew me off of my feet and onto my knees when my dad was diagnosed with bone cancer. I suddenly found my sense of direction magnetically drawn to something new, different and many times rather frightening and sad. I let the wind blow. I’ve never looked back or tried to hide from it because I knew from where this “new” wind came. It came from God. It came from a personal and very real Holy Spirit. I never expected my life to be like this. But, I let the wind blow me into writing again. I never assume my life will stay like this. I will let the wind blow me into whatever, wherever I’m needed. Being a guided, loved and useful “Phyllis Diller” is a great gift and I keep digging in the dirt finding new stuff to do and to be.
Let the wind blow in and thru your life. You’ll be amazed where you’ll end up and where you will be guided next. It’s simply “be-oo-tee-ful”. Wherever you go or go thru, allow yourself to be blown around a bit. And, always, be kind. Messed up “doo” or not.
“What will this day be like? I wonder. What will my future be? I wonder.” Yes, I have most of “The Sound of Music” music memorized. That musical is one of my truly all time “go tos”. (And then, I don’t feel so bad…) As a little girl, I was mesmerized with the story, the songs, the clothes, characters, scenery..I could go on. At different times in my life, I’ve wondered what it would be like to be each character, depending on my life circumstances. Yes,the guys included. They all had so much humanity in common. I related to different ones at different times.Even the extras and the “villains”. Remembering watching this movie with my parents and other family over and over , I am able to recall how they related to some of the different characters, too. (Note: my children have endured this movie with me for the last 24 yrs or so. I wonder to which character they have relate to at times? I wonder which one I have resembled in their minds, at times?)
The song list and even the story saga would be from my perspective, of course, because I was never a candidate for nunship, but wanted to belong and at times, hide, in a particular religious denomination. I was not thrust into a large sibling family, however, I have more relatives than I truly can count. My family did not endure a war when I was a child, but there were some heated moments in our country and even within some family issues. At times, I resembled one of the kids hanging out of a tree because I was a self-proclaimed monkey and was allowed to be. Other times, I was the big sister, protective of my brother. I’ve felt like a mediator, (Max) and I was most definately a daddy’s girl. Life. All were different “life” moments for me. I had a hard time figuring out if I could relate to the rich -vamp- almost- step-mother, but when I saw some of my selfishness…ouch. I hate that.
The story and songs have always stuck with me. Mostly, the songs. Now, with MS as a fellow actor in my life, I’ve adapted some of the lyrics to MS. Why not? Here are a few:
“How do you solve a problem like MS? How do you catch a cloud and pin it down…” You don’t. Or someone hasn’t, yet. I accept MS for what it is and make the best of it. Many thing I know I’d like to tell people. Many things I know they won’t understand.
“Rain drops on roses..” (This is explained in my “About” section of this blog.)
“I must have done something good”…or bad. Well, no, not necessarily. Even in my wild, bad days, my innocent days, my days where things may have been out of my control as a child for good or bad, didn’t cause MS to hook up with me and dance, or fall, in the rain or shelter me. It just happened. It’s just happening. It will continue to happen until a cure is found. I choose it for something good, whether I’m in the arms of Christopher Plummer or the grasp of awkwardness.
“Doe, ray me..” The first few words you happen to hear..”You have MS”., when diagnosed. .Rather crappy words, but I have had the joy of watching the rest of that song ( news) sound beautiful. That’s another God thing. I’m going as “fa” with this as life will take me. Fa is a long long way to run, stumble or hold onto. Glad I’ve got a great family and awesome MS family in this with me for the long haul!
“So long, farewell”. To MS? One day, but not to you. I may be or go “coo-coo”, but, I’m not saying “goodbye”, just yet. The hills I’ll have to climb with this disease are still alive with the sound of joy and of MS; the sound of music. My music. I’m not finished with my life lyrics just yet. God’s not either.
Of course, I don’t have all of the original titles just so. I did that on purpose. This blog is not deep in perspective, God, moments, family or even casseroles. (ha). I merely want you to fill in the holes, the blanks, I leave behind, with your songs. With your life. When you wonder what your day will be like? Fill in your blanks. When you wonder what your future will be? Let God or whatever or whoever can, for you, fill in the holes. I’m not judgemental. Just observant. When the sound my MS sings, my God will have me practiced and ready to finish the song. Hopefully, I’ll be an old chick in a nursing home in Fiji, sipping a “porch rocker” then. Or, maybe, on my porch, rocking great grandbabies of mine or a friend’s.
Sure, there may be people who don’t understand me nor MS. I may get drenched in a rain of bad symptoms. I may sit, for a while or for life, on something painful.(the pine cone scene) I may be haunted or hunted by MS and have to go places I’ve never been and if I had my preference, not. The sound of my MS, is a choir of notes. If we all sing, together, our world will be alive with the sound of….US!
World MS day was yesterday. Life MS is day is today. Wanna sing with me? Always, find your song. Always know your song is relatable to others. Always, be kind.
I can’t seem to drive far enough away from the exploded mine field looking images, sounds and smells lurking in my mind after tornadoes shredded our area. Reminders line the roads with rubble. Tree stumps. Broken toys. Soggy pieces of people’s lives are now on display as useless on curbs. It’s disturbing. It’s heart breaking. It’s as if someone turned our part of the world inside out.
Untangling tree branches and fence posts last weekend at a friend’s house seemed to be more like disassembling a Picasso painting. Most of us simply stunned at how daunting it seemed. Until….
I saw a small, carefully planted garden underneath a mass of pine cones and brush. A beautiful little garden. Marigolds lovingly framed vegetable plants. The bright yellow sunshine flowers were even more beautiful in contrast to the mud and chainsaw mulch. There was a tiny aluminum tinted wire fence which was partially bowed down, but there was a small segment which withstood the storm. So did a tomato plant. So did one tiny marble sized green tomato.
How could something as fragile as a wire fence, frail flowers and a plant no bigger around that a baby’s finger manage to withstand the ravages of a storm? I don’t know. What I do know is, that one teenie tomato, hanging in defiance gave me a small round glimpse into hope. A force much bigger than that not- quite- ready green tomato, quickly uprooted trees and misplaced lives. One little tomato. You’re probably saying, “so what”? I’m not.
I know we’re not to add to the Bible. I don’t intend to, but merely project another image of faith and hope next to a mustard seed. One, little tomato sized faith? Kinda cool, if you think of it. Paul says we are afflicted in every way, but not crushed, perplexed, but not despairing; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed…” (2nd Corinthians 4:8-9)
Are Christians immune to disasters? Nope. Are Christians surrounded by a force field, shielding them from enemies of human making, disease or nature? Nope. We are promised, however, if we look close enough, beyond the rubble, hope. It may be the size of a dangling baby tomato, but hope. A hope that endures. A hope that can, indeed, grow. Defining hope.
I believe that little tomato, once it matures, is picked and tasted, will be absolutely delicious and be joined by other tomatoes, sharing that one vine. Share hope. Savor hope. It’s crazy good! And, always, be kind.
This is dedicated to Matt and Chloe Duncan. In the midst all they are enduring, they know they are held in the vine of our church family and the promises of God. They smile. They love. They hope. Doesn’t a tomato sandwich sound good?
April 27th, 2011. Tornadoes. One. After. The. Other.Even with a tornado watch issued, then the warnings. the twisters were slightly predictable at best and seemed to barrel down as random like rookie bowlers. Houses here, houses there. Businesses and fences here and utility poles and lost jobs there. Lives here, lives there, and sadly, lives everywhere were impacted in some way.
I put myself in the mind of a little child, trying to wrap a curious, afraid and undeveloped sense of the world around all of the disaster. Childhood images of wrecked lincoln log and lego structures catapulted me into this mindset as I saw horrific pictures displayed on the television and newspaper. Everywhere you look, blue tarps precariously hung over parts of homes like napkins over a picnic plate. Everywhere you turn, chain saws noisily reve up and pierce the air like race cars. There are odd experiences of finding furniture in trees, report cards from 50 miles away and homes only half destroyed..the other half still had pictures on the walls. There was an overwhelming odor overload of gasoline, pine, cedar and dampness.
I’ve always been one to ask questions. I probably was born asking the doctor for his credentials and my parents to explain why the light was too bright as I fussed as nurses bundled me like a mummy in a pink blanket and couldn’t talk with my hands. Being curious is a lifetime profession for me. If I were a child, what would I ask when all of the power was out for our entire county for 6 days and under a curfew at night?” Do tornadoes have teeth”? Houses look like they have been bitten or chewed up completely. “Why are tornadoes so rude and mean”? I was always taught to play fair and not tear up my toys or other people’s stuff. I would wonder,Iis God made at me”? I’d be a fidgety bored kid, feeling as if I’m in a darken time out and only able to eating canned beenie weenies and peanut butter crackers for days.
Perhaps, these are even harder questions I would be begging to ask. Impatient me would have to know the answers. Being a trained storm spotter, I normally would have been very busy that April day. However, I was not home when half of hell seemed to be turned loose, etching their way through Alabama. I did not experience first hand the eerie darkness, the screaming winds, the panic or the force of nature which seem to flick emotions at random, just as it flicked barns into neighboring counties. Nevertheless, I was afraid. I was afraid for my family. I was afraid for our home. I was afraid for the hardships I knew were playing out before the day ended and night drapped over hundreds of miles. I was afraid because I did not know the answers and could not get to my home because of all of the damage and outages. For days.
Of course, tornadoes don’t have teeth. No, they aren’t mean and rude because those are human qualities we tend to slap onto something we don’t understand. And, most importantly, no, God was not mad at anyone hurt from the tornadoes. Nor, was He punishing people with the county-wide curfew from dusk to dawn. We, as adults know most of these answers just because we have been around long enough to either have asked or gotten the information we need off of the internet or through plain old life.
Some people, however, treat things that happen to them as if those situations do, indeed, have teeth. Guilt and shame with owners complete with spurs ride on the backs of many. Shoulders carry feelings wrapped in tarps of fear or unworthiness. It’s all someone elses fault, bad karma or God’s just plain mean. Question after question goes unanswered or the answer is not what they want to hear.
We are promised, if we have the faith of a child, the size of a mustard seed (teenie), we will be comforted. We will have the knowledge we need for the moment and the wisdom to dispense it later. We will have the strength and courage we desperately want. We will always be a child of God. His answers satisfy, even when not fully understood. He always listens. He’s always there. Go ahead. Ask. He’s even awake 24-7, if you need to run something by Him in the middle of the night. No question is too childish, by the way.
Whether you are walking around in fear, sitting in silent shame, crawling around in dark moments, remember to ask. I just did for something particularly personal and annoying to me. I feel much better now. Ask, receive and always, be kind.
For a few weeks in my house, I have smelled feet. Off and on. In my living room. For days. Feet…GROSSSSS! Today, I hunted, had my son hunt and was on my hands and knees. I had Pinesol and a mop….I have 2 cats and a dog. Wee wee smells nasty. This was not pee. My nose convinced me I had a good excuse to ditch my old area rug.
I have ipsilateral RR MS. That is where MS affects pretty much just one side of your body. It’s the right side for me. (right leg, arm, hand, foot, butt cheek…) The RR is like a hit and miss thing. MS has a very quirky way of deflecting one of the 5 senses to another, should one of the 5 be out of whack,… say, HEARING. Huh? :-) I normally have a very heightened sense of hearing. I HATE noise. I hate loud talking. I hate the sound of “unnecessary” noise. noisy people and things get under my skin faster than ticks on yard dogs. But, for some time now, can’t tell you how long, because I’ve been too busy with that thing they call life, my right ear drum has annoyed me. It ain’t workin’ right. My daughter is a drummer, and a darned good one, so she could think of a myriad of reasons why a drum doesn’t do what it is supposed to (not tight enough..worn out head…seal busted…) or behave in a predicted manner when struck. Remember, I write like I talk. Grammar is a concern, but not a worry, just yet.
Musical drums are like ear drums, hence the name drum. They echo, resonate and reflect. They allow sounds to bounce in a particular fashion of precision, timing and rhythm. They work or they don’t. In between “work” and “don’t” is where I am. My surround sound has reverted to the old style movie version of life: turn you head to snatch popcorn and whatever was said or done doesn’t get “heard” quite the same. When one sense is distorted or not there at all, another steps in. Understand it? Heck, no. I have no idea how a sense I lose or never had, becomes elevated within another sense. Just does. I still smelled feet…..
Charlie Brown’s teacher is my new comparison. That’s kind of funny to me, seeing as everyone heard her as “waooohhhaoowaaaa” and the kids all heard her in complete sentences. That’s how I hear this last week. Still, at home, between every other word uttered to me, I thought…I SMELL FEET!
Today, problem solved. Not with the ear thing, although, my dental drilling this week could have triggered a greater hearing distortion than I already had. Makes sense. (ha) I know it sure messed with my MS in other ways. However, once I pulled, tugged, shoved and lifted the contents of my living room…I SAW a sock. A white sock. Not my sock. A smelly, probably forgotten, dog carried, slobbered on and hid, stinky sweaty odor sock. Boiled EGG smellin sock. It has now been trashed, outside, along with the nasty rug. My living room is mopped, fresh, hairball and dust free, and life is great! Oh, I still can’t hear too good. I think that’s where the one sense over another comes in. Would I have gotten to that NAsty sock if all of my senses were doing their thing? Just a thought. I have been busy. Hummm
Wouldn’t it be GREAT if some part of our life would rally around another part and say, “hey, you ain’t workin’ right, so I’m gonna carry more weight…just for you. If and when, you work or do as you should, I’ll go back to normal. If not, I’m here to enhance, no questions or complaints, this life we’re all in together.” Huh?? We’re all here. Together in life. Through the stinky stuff and in the times life doesn’t work right.
Carry the load for someone. Hold them up. Even if just for a while, a week, a day or a moment. Once you do that, maybe they will find some “smells” they either were too busy to notice or too burdened to care. I’m thinkin, someone has already done that for you. My sense of smell was elevated enough to nose out that dreadful sock. Thanks to my right ear and my body’s way of stepping up to the task which needed attention. Feet stink. But, we all need to……be kind.
I don’t “do” mornings. Know the verb, know me. To NOT do. Quite an epic understatement, however, as I am concerned. I have not grown into doing mornings. I like to call it superficially adapted. Yet, I always habitually revert to the whining aspect the morning “no ways”.I daily groaned every morning as a kid a 3 word “key” to semi-sanity, 5 MORE MINUTES! ( Well, there were a very few Christmas mornings I got a bit feisty and woke up eagerly.) Although, if it were not for my younger brother, I would have been fine with Santa knocking on the door for brunch.
I did not have an alarm clock as a kid. No, I was not time deprived, I simply had no need of jarring myself into reality. I did have clocks and watches. Pffffttt. Those, much to my dismay, were mere figurines. I had DADalarm. In person. Ready to rip the covers off, exposing Scooby Doo pjs and all for the mere sake of time efficiency. Alarm clocks? Pa-leeease. Daddy was alarming enough! He was a morning person. I dare not expound on this because my brother and mom are still recipients of my colorful vocabulary expressing the thoughts of my “human paternal” uppy uppy “ clock. I do believe my dear dad was not only up,but had coffee, showered and read the paper before God had a chance to wipe His eye pies.Without fail, Daddy would flip on my bedroom light and with a reassuring, yet booming, DEEP voice dictate to me it was time to get up. The terms he used are still raw and oddly soothing to me and my brother, so I’m not tellin what Daddy said, exactly. It was most unpleasant to a kid.
”5 more minutes, Daddy, pleeeeeaaassseeee!?” Was I insane? What good would 5 more minutes do? I always asked, bartered and begged anyway. When and if I got my pitiful wish, it was like awaking in the movie “Groundhog Day” for 5 minutes on a daily basis because Daddy would do and say and do the same stuff EXACTLY 5 minutes later. Every. Freakin. Day. Cuss. Cuss. Cuss.
This morning was a “5 more minutes” morning. I was not awakened by a startling flash of fatherly light in my eyes, but by a flick of a sloppy dog tongue to my eye lids. It was most unpleasant. I so wanted 5 more minutes, even knowing I would experience “ground-DOG day” 5 mimutes later, all over again.
I don’t need an alarm clock with Tru. My little 8 lb., crazy, wild-eyed black and tan morning “person” dog wakes at the same time most days to dictate with his cold nose, tongue and dragon breath the importance that I get up when he deems it time. My only solace during mornings such as these (every morning) is Daddy did not directly breathe on me. (It would have been coffee breath…)
Ya know something? I do the “5 more minute” thing with God.Yeah, here is the “GOD MOMENT” which vines its way thru most of my writings. There are days, when I know what’s ahead of me, in which I PLEAD for 5 more minutes of not getting out of bed. Of not wanting to think of a thing except of a hint of warm, dark chicory coffee lapping its aroma underneath my bedroom door. I want to put off, turn over, and wait…for just a little while and not get up and going with what God wants me to most days. To be honest, it is something I shouldn’t say or feel, but I do. I’m a mom. I’m human. I have MS. I have a myrid of excuses and “deserved minutes. “Just 5 more minutes!”
PAAALEEEASEEEEE! God, don’t you know how MS hurts and exhausts me out of the blue? Don’t you understand the pain I have in just turning, putting my feet, right foot in particular, on hardwood floors and walking to the potty? Jesus, you FED 5,000 PEOPLE, do I REALLY have to do all of this other stuff AND grocery shop, cook and clean for 3-4??! 5 more minutes…paleeessseeeese?!
As a brick turned sideways in its own wall, can I have just 5 more minutes to mourn my daddy before life resumes? 5 more minutes to gather my thoughts as my daughter or son go thru something only “Mama” can provide comfort or relief? 5 more minutes to NOT hit my husband upside the head for snoring all night? 5 more minutes to re-think that check I want to write for missions, the homeless, the abused, yet I write it for another type of cheese (my weakness)…FIVE MORE MINUTES!!!
Ain’t happening. When God calls you, draws you, even pleads with you…there may be only a few ”5 minute groundhog days” if you are lucky. Most of the time, there are no second calls. No gracious applauds. We should ”get up and wake up” when called. Ouch.
Merciful, Lord! Thank you for inventing coffee!
This was saved as a draft from this morning. Little did I know HOW I missed my Daddy’s voice. wow. I was on my own without an alarm. Little did I UNDERSTAND how many hours and banks I would have to go to, introduce myself to, for HOURS. No” 5 minutes”. I did what I had to do, for a time. Toasted chicken, spinach, tomatoes, red onion and feta for dinner echo my day. I didn’t get what I needed today. But, I am grateful to a son who started a fire when I got home. The “5 more minute day” I will have to do tomorrow , in the midst of my monthly MS IV,and find a way to do what I was supposed to do today. I was hindered and annoyed today yet, not detoured. I was hungry ( not eating for hours does that), not famished. I was nourished by the mere fact God is able and He’s able to be merciful on stubborn “5 more minute people” like me. Burnt marshmallows and roasted toes work wonders.
Is there anything or anyone God is calling you to “wake up to:”? If so…5 more minutes will make you, break you, or you may get 5 more minutes of grace. Think about that. Think about being kind. Here’s a challenge; when you think you deserve or feel you need or just want 5 more minutes, what will happen if you get it?
Hey!!! Don’t beat yourself up! God can be merciful and He KNOWS when we are not up to the day, the week or the month either mentally or physically. What my t-shirt??? This, my friends, is when His “5 more minutes” means an eternity of peace and hope. Remember this: what if you are asked to be the 4 minutes and .59 seconds in between someone else’s plea for 5 more minutes? What will happen…I pray you think about that for more than 5 minutes.
My day started at 7am and it is now 9pm. It has taken a whole day to write this blog. It is only fitting. What if I don’t nod off from exhaustion and give you 5 more minutes…….be kind…I….zzzzzzzzz.