And I love the way that that knowledge does not make me feel like I can just slip all over and fix it later. Quite the contrary. I want to live up to the generosity of this gift. I want to choose well what I do.
Do you ever feel like you are being watched? Not in a stalker way, but in a "be careful. preserve yourself. you have some things to accomplish yet" kind of way? I have felt this way since I was a little girl. Some might call it inherent guilt or fear, but I knew God was watching me when my neighbor friends asked me to go sliding on the neighborhood pond when I was supposed to be on my way home. "Just tell your mom and dad you lost track of time."
OK, maybe I was a little guilt ridden. Maybe I was a chicken. But I like to think that even before I understood my relationship with Him I wanted to earn His trust. I already had enough flaws just from being human. Why would I willingly heap even more weight on His back while he later would climb that hill?
We can make the gospel as complicated as we want to, but the bottom line is that Jesus died for me. And you. He understands our pains, both the ones caused by ourselves and the ones caused by others. He loves us and wants us to be whole.
So I will take the bread and water tomorrow and remember that I am being watched, and I don't mind one little bit.
google image used with creative commons
I have a kind and sensitive husband that understands when I need to cry a little, or curl up in a ball and beg for ibuprofin. I am lucky like that. My sons are old enough to get it a little more too.
Ladies need to be alone sometimes. Sometimes our bodies hurt because we bleed every month when we are preparing to have a baby and one doesn't get made. We change and get ready for some things that never happen. And in this case, our bodies pay a little. But it is worth it. That is how I got you.
I have never been one to be too shy around my sons. If I don't teach them directly about women, who will? In the proper way? I am happy to play that part. Sometimes the teaching is direct, other times indirect. Whatever it takes.
It was snowing yesterday and I was a little crabby about it, so as I sat in the Target parking lot before running in for a bridal shower gift I decided to lean my heated seat back, just calm down, and take a moment.
My mind started wandering about a little surprise gift I have been considering for my youngest son, who loves any living thing smaller than himself. Being as a baby is out of the question, a bunny seemed a viable option, especially with Easter coming up. Then I started to think about this young son of mine. He will be 13 in a couple of months. I wondered to myself if buying him a small little pet was a subconscious effort on my part to keep him young. Or worse, if I just felt the need to have something small to take care of.
The tears welled up as I was stretched out there in my little SUV. I quickly moved the seat back up and tried to get a grip on myself. This pre-menopausal stuff is a slippery slope. I can go from mad to nostalgic to sobbing all within 5 minutes. Oh, my poor family.
Then I thought of my older sons. Why am I so reluctant to let these younger ones grow up when I have been so pleased with my older boys? It has been fun to have older kids that are responsible adults. I actually love it. Why can't I release this death grip I seem to have on the last 2? Am I afraid of what life will be like later? Am I sad about fewer bear hugs? Yes on both counts, if I am being honest.
At the end of my pity party, I gathered myself, bought the bridal shower gift, and called on the little white bunny on the way home.
I thought after doing around 60 audio tracks it might be time to try a video. I have some more creative ideas for a possible next time, most of which would include much less of my mug and much more nature or other images.
Thanks for stopping by.
This is a line from Doig's "The Whistling Season".
We live 5 miles from the first home we shared as a newly married couple. The house, which was old then, is pretty dilapidated now. But it was ours, and I can still walk through every inch of it in my mind. I drive past it every now and then as I head into Provo, and I point it out over and over again to my kids.
Do you ever fell like you leave ghosts behind? Like places you have spent a lot of time in have part of you? I mean almost literally. It's one of the things I get a little sappy about. Because really, if you leave parts of you behind, are you less when you move on to the next place?
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