Does your heart ever feel so full that you wonder how much more will fit? Does it compress and weigh and sigh and swell and adjust?
My heart is so full of many things that for days now it just runs right out of my eyes and down my face. Unbidden. Random. Unexpected. Silent. Sometimes the silent tears hurt the most.
Life just stopped unceremoniously one Friday in March. It just stopped. You know what I mean, the entire country got up, went about their work, came home that evening and stopped. I remember that day and how it felt. I drove a friend home after work and I was feeling a lot of emotions. I could tell my life was changing in an instant and I was having difficulty processing what it would all mean. It was very surreal, somehow I knew it would be permanent or semi-permanent in some ways and my life would not be the same. I didn't know how to face it and I was grateful to not be alone that day.
A main function of being a parent is to celebrate your kids. It is to champion them, lead them, cheer for them and then push them out of the nest. So many parents are missing opportunities to celebrate. Right now, tears stream down my face at the loss. It is a significant loss and we are allowed to feel it. Not only are we allowed, but we should take the time to grieve it fully. Not one word of criticism about "people's lives matter more than your milestone." Not one word of that in this space. In this space we validate emotion and feelings. We take time because we know if it is not processed right and well it will be baggage in a hot minute that we will carry with us to the next stage. Friends, we always want to keep our baggage light, we want to unpack it often.
I only have middle schoolers but they both are struggling in their own ways. My son has chosen not to pursue jazz his Freshman year because he wants to add another course and there are only so many timeslots. He was going to have a jazz festival, he was going to play in NYC and with those great final memories, he was going to say "goodbye" to jazz which he truly enjoys. He is mourning that I think, not with tears like me, but a piece of his heart is disappointed and as his mother I want to fix that. He is supposed to "move up" in a ceremony in which he would have played some jazz, and dressed up. He asked me last night if I was going to play "Pomp and Circumstance" for him and without hesitation I said, "yes," which means I have to dig out the keyboard, find some sheet music, and start practicing. He gave me a hug. Which isn't unprecedented. But kinda. (He feels the teen separation hard right now.) I died a thousand deaths.
Boy scout camp is canceled and I know his career as a boy scout is now over. He's been expressing it for awhile but it's been a forced commitment. I wanted him to go to camp, have a good last memory because I know next summer he is almost sixteen and a sophomore and I will not force him longer. One day in March his career was simply over without announcement, without fanfare or one more merit badge.
My friends are postponing long dreamed of weddings. My heart aches for the bride dying to wear her dress. I once was dying to wear my dress. I feel that. My niece should be graduating high school. I should be in Ohio celebrating her. I once graduated and was anxious to have my family celebrate me. I keenly feel that.
Friends, what are we supposed to do with this mountain of unexpected grief and unrealized celebration?
First we are going to allow ourselves to grieve. My son hugged me hard and when he pulled back I hugged him harder. We will feel the grief. We will talk about it. We will find ways to celebrate. We will not be silenced by anyone that thinks our priories are misaligned. My sons, my husband, this time, is my priority.
Second, we will find ways to move forward. There is nothing new under the sun so many people before us, moved on.
We will move on somehow. But give yourself space to grieve. You can do that here. You can pop over to my house. I am allowing company. I am allowing tears.
For one day we got up and our whole life changed.
And that needs hugs.
Monday, May 18, 2020
Sunday, April 26, 2020
The Voice of Truth
The Sunday night blues are getting worse.
I've always had them. Almost always.
Sunday night. The evening you spend thinking about returning to work and wishing it wasn't a thing.
It's so much worse now.
I have to wear a mask all day. I have to take my temperature before I begin my shift. I have to take the temperature of visitors entering the building. Extra duties, extra drama.
It's not that I'm afraid to be out. I'm not afraid. I just cannot put into appropriate words how exhausting it is. Every task you undertake is an ordeal. It's three extra steps to do one thing. Nothing is simple anymore.
Each day it gets harder to keep your sense of humor. I'm not totally gone because I can share that I'm now thinking about giving up coffee. When you have to smell your own coffee breath all day it gives you renewed appreciation for your loved ones and helps you consider other beverage options.
I hate losing my sense of humor. It is the one thing to which you must hold tight, your humor. It is what allows you to make it through, and once it is gone, the only remaining thing to lose is hope.
The opinions are many. Too many. The dialogue, q and a sessions, "read this from my doctor friend," the theories, the articles... I've given up trying to process what is accurate. I don't believe it is within my scope to know it. The world and all its sources have proven untrustworthy time and again. The opinions of anyone are just that.
I know in whom I have believed. His word. His voice. Is the truth. As I go through the day, if I step back, as if stepping outside my body, I see the noise. Yes, you read it correctly, I "see" the noise. It looks like emotion. It looks like a train. It looks like a storm in which the eye is never quite reached. It looks like barren wasteland. It looks like deprivation. It looks like tears. I step back in and, in slow motion, the words I need to hear come toward me. The truth slices deeply through the noise.
"Angela, beloved daughter, you seek a home to come, here you have no continuing city. Ask me for wisdom and I will give it freely. Lean into me. Listen to my voice. This present world is full of trouble, it always will be. I give you peace to carry with you. Remember my joy. It's here. I'm walking with you each day. You never go anywhere alone. I made oceans and trees and stars and I hold your hand. Do not listen to the chaos. Do not be disheartened by the noise. You get to walk like a lion today. I will fulfill a purpose in your day. As you wear that mask, take your temperature, hear the opinions and politics, roll your eyes, and start to feel discouraged, remember I put you in year 40 in the year 2020 in this New York culture for a specific reason. You can't see it. You don't know what good is possibly going to come from clocking into work each day. But what you do every day bears witness to God. So do it right. Do it well. Shine a light in dark places. The dark will try to overcome you but it can't. Because you, Angela, beloved daughter, carry the light of the world with you. You bring hope when all the lights are going out. Be excited that it's Monday. You get to be an influencer. I am with you. Even to the end of the age."
Let's roll.
I've always had them. Almost always.
Sunday night. The evening you spend thinking about returning to work and wishing it wasn't a thing.
It's so much worse now.
I have to wear a mask all day. I have to take my temperature before I begin my shift. I have to take the temperature of visitors entering the building. Extra duties, extra drama.
It's not that I'm afraid to be out. I'm not afraid. I just cannot put into appropriate words how exhausting it is. Every task you undertake is an ordeal. It's three extra steps to do one thing. Nothing is simple anymore.
Each day it gets harder to keep your sense of humor. I'm not totally gone because I can share that I'm now thinking about giving up coffee. When you have to smell your own coffee breath all day it gives you renewed appreciation for your loved ones and helps you consider other beverage options.
I hate losing my sense of humor. It is the one thing to which you must hold tight, your humor. It is what allows you to make it through, and once it is gone, the only remaining thing to lose is hope.
The opinions are many. Too many. The dialogue, q and a sessions, "read this from my doctor friend," the theories, the articles... I've given up trying to process what is accurate. I don't believe it is within my scope to know it. The world and all its sources have proven untrustworthy time and again. The opinions of anyone are just that.
I know in whom I have believed. His word. His voice. Is the truth. As I go through the day, if I step back, as if stepping outside my body, I see the noise. Yes, you read it correctly, I "see" the noise. It looks like emotion. It looks like a train. It looks like a storm in which the eye is never quite reached. It looks like barren wasteland. It looks like deprivation. It looks like tears. I step back in and, in slow motion, the words I need to hear come toward me. The truth slices deeply through the noise.
"Angela, beloved daughter, you seek a home to come, here you have no continuing city. Ask me for wisdom and I will give it freely. Lean into me. Listen to my voice. This present world is full of trouble, it always will be. I give you peace to carry with you. Remember my joy. It's here. I'm walking with you each day. You never go anywhere alone. I made oceans and trees and stars and I hold your hand. Do not listen to the chaos. Do not be disheartened by the noise. You get to walk like a lion today. I will fulfill a purpose in your day. As you wear that mask, take your temperature, hear the opinions and politics, roll your eyes, and start to feel discouraged, remember I put you in year 40 in the year 2020 in this New York culture for a specific reason. You can't see it. You don't know what good is possibly going to come from clocking into work each day. But what you do every day bears witness to God. So do it right. Do it well. Shine a light in dark places. The dark will try to overcome you but it can't. Because you, Angela, beloved daughter, carry the light of the world with you. You bring hope when all the lights are going out. Be excited that it's Monday. You get to be an influencer. I am with you. Even to the end of the age."
Let's roll.
Sunday, April 19, 2020
War Stories
Dear readers...
It's Sunday. It's quite difficult to differentiate the days of the week sometimes. Sundays traditionally do not look like today has been. Everyone talks about what they will do "when this is over." One can only guess and only time will tell just when that will be. Because I live in New York....it might not ever be over.
We have had some fun experiences with friends. We've participated in video wars, food wars, and camping wars. In a nutshell, taking and sending videos of dinners/what we're doing/challenges. We have received gifts of food on our porch and we have given gifts of food. We put up a tent in the living room and camped out overnight and so did our niece (at her house in Ohio). For the record, our camping trip was last night and my body isn't recovered. You can do a lot of things to keep purpose and meaning.
If we are old and dear friends, I probably have already laid out my well intentioned plan. My best strategy by far was to remove myself from social media. Just like a brave soul walks directly into what everyone else runs from, I'm doing the same in the opposite, and it doesn't require bravery. While many have flocked to social media several minutes/hours of the day, pouring over posts/news/gossip/memes, I simply made the decision to remove it from my routine. What blessed peace. For now, it is proving to be one of the best strategies I could employ.
I don't want to wear a face mask everywhere I go, but it's now basically required. I don't want to battle with my kids about routine and the need to shower every day regardless if you step foot outside the door. I don't want to go to work every day and come home to a house full of people who haven't left and pick up (some) pieces on top of everything else. It's exhausting some days and some days those I have left behind knock it out of the park. We're all just living one day.
It's still life. It still has purpose and meaning. And I am still required to rise up and meet it.
Today is Sunday. There is sunshine. And my group text message affirms my life and reminds me I am still very secure at the bottom of the food chain where my farming skills are mocked, and no one can EVER forget that I threw a pickle in 1987.
Look. I'm not likely to plant only one row of corn in the future, but I honestly can't say I won't throw another vegetable. These are the days of our life.
Each day has meaning and we can still enjoy those whom we hold dear.
Embrace today. Mask or not. Me? My man is going to take me on a motorcycle ride and we are going to see the world. And eat ice cream.
It's Sunday. It's quite difficult to differentiate the days of the week sometimes. Sundays traditionally do not look like today has been. Everyone talks about what they will do "when this is over." One can only guess and only time will tell just when that will be. Because I live in New York....it might not ever be over.
We have had some fun experiences with friends. We've participated in video wars, food wars, and camping wars. In a nutshell, taking and sending videos of dinners/what we're doing/challenges. We have received gifts of food on our porch and we have given gifts of food. We put up a tent in the living room and camped out overnight and so did our niece (at her house in Ohio). For the record, our camping trip was last night and my body isn't recovered. You can do a lot of things to keep purpose and meaning.
If we are old and dear friends, I probably have already laid out my well intentioned plan. My best strategy by far was to remove myself from social media. Just like a brave soul walks directly into what everyone else runs from, I'm doing the same in the opposite, and it doesn't require bravery. While many have flocked to social media several minutes/hours of the day, pouring over posts/news/gossip/memes, I simply made the decision to remove it from my routine. What blessed peace. For now, it is proving to be one of the best strategies I could employ.
I don't want to wear a face mask everywhere I go, but it's now basically required. I don't want to battle with my kids about routine and the need to shower every day regardless if you step foot outside the door. I don't want to go to work every day and come home to a house full of people who haven't left and pick up (some) pieces on top of everything else. It's exhausting some days and some days those I have left behind knock it out of the park. We're all just living one day.
It's still life. It still has purpose and meaning. And I am still required to rise up and meet it.
Today is Sunday. There is sunshine. And my group text message affirms my life and reminds me I am still very secure at the bottom of the food chain where my farming skills are mocked, and no one can EVER forget that I threw a pickle in 1987.
Look. I'm not likely to plant only one row of corn in the future, but I honestly can't say I won't throw another vegetable. These are the days of our life.
Each day has meaning and we can still enjoy those whom we hold dear.
Embrace today. Mask or not. Me? My man is going to take me on a motorcycle ride and we are going to see the world. And eat ice cream.
Friday, April 10, 2020
Walking the Streets
I have had many joyous days. I can say with confidence that my forty years have been beautiful. I have loved and had the love of one good man. I have loved and had the love of two sons. If today would be the day I meet Jesus, I would leave this beautiful life knowing that the best still waits for me.
Death is walking the streets. He can be seen more plainly than before, and as he goes he leaves a trail of bodies waiting to be placed in mass graves. Mass graves. Two words we don't often place together when we describe life in suburban America. Still Death walks. Slowly and surely through our streets. As he goes he twists and turns, taking this one and that one, and leaving one behind. His methods are ruthless, steady, and final. Devastation and heartache is all you will find when his work is complete. You would do well to fear such an opponent, for once you have engaged, there will be no recovery.
But what if.
What if Death walked the streets. Ruthless. Steady. Twisting. Turning. Wreaking havoc and devastation, but the poison of finality was no more.....?
Death is the great enemy because of finality.
There are no more baby snuggles. There are no more fudgesicles on a hot day. No more bike rides through the park. No more arms enfolding. No more hands to hold. No more smiles reaching to bright eyes. No more juicy apples. No more snowflakes melting on cheeks.
Final.
But.... Once upon a time.... Death, haughty and fierce, waiting since the garden, brought his top game with all its fury and force. And he surrendered to One.
Death walks the streets. Our streets. Piling bodies to the left and right. But we can have hope beyond death. He will twist and turn and mount sorrow upon sorrow but it is not the end.
Softly, tenderly, Jesus says, "Your sin? It's a big problem. It separates us and it costs a life. But
I paid for it. Your heart? I want it for my own. Your life? I laid mine down so you could keep it. Believe in me. Believe in the One that sent me. I am the First and the Last. I am the Beginning and the End. I will make all things new. Come."
Hope beyond death. The news you will not see on CNN.
The cities on the hill, we are getting tired, shining out in the chaos in few numbers. Still we hold our one candle high in the hopes that it will start another. We pray that it will be so. Hope is here. Take hold of it.
My one beautiful life has been a gift. One I don't relish relinquishing. But I know when I cross from this life to the next, Jesus will be waiting.
Can you say the same?
Food for thought as Death walks our streets.
Death is walking the streets. He can be seen more plainly than before, and as he goes he leaves a trail of bodies waiting to be placed in mass graves. Mass graves. Two words we don't often place together when we describe life in suburban America. Still Death walks. Slowly and surely through our streets. As he goes he twists and turns, taking this one and that one, and leaving one behind. His methods are ruthless, steady, and final. Devastation and heartache is all you will find when his work is complete. You would do well to fear such an opponent, for once you have engaged, there will be no recovery.
But what if.
What if Death walked the streets. Ruthless. Steady. Twisting. Turning. Wreaking havoc and devastation, but the poison of finality was no more.....?
Death is the great enemy because of finality.
There are no more baby snuggles. There are no more fudgesicles on a hot day. No more bike rides through the park. No more arms enfolding. No more hands to hold. No more smiles reaching to bright eyes. No more juicy apples. No more snowflakes melting on cheeks.
Final.
But.... Once upon a time.... Death, haughty and fierce, waiting since the garden, brought his top game with all its fury and force. And he surrendered to One.
Death walks the streets. Our streets. Piling bodies to the left and right. But we can have hope beyond death. He will twist and turn and mount sorrow upon sorrow but it is not the end.
Softly, tenderly, Jesus says, "Your sin? It's a big problem. It separates us and it costs a life. But
I paid for it. Your heart? I want it for my own. Your life? I laid mine down so you could keep it. Believe in me. Believe in the One that sent me. I am the First and the Last. I am the Beginning and the End. I will make all things new. Come."
Hope beyond death. The news you will not see on CNN.
The cities on the hill, we are getting tired, shining out in the chaos in few numbers. Still we hold our one candle high in the hopes that it will start another. We pray that it will be so. Hope is here. Take hold of it.
My one beautiful life has been a gift. One I don't relish relinquishing. But I know when I cross from this life to the next, Jesus will be waiting.
Can you say the same?
Food for thought as Death walks our streets.
Monday, March 23, 2020
Take A Bullet
Good Morning from New York!
Quite possibly the corona capital of the US...or close to it. I'm sitting on the couch in a quiet house because I'm not making my teenagers get up yet and my husband is already "working" in his very quickly converted home office. Do you know what? Before Amazon stopped shipping all of the things we want, they made a fortune in home office equipment sales. A fortune.
My life is changing this week and I have only complained to the people I love most, multiple times. My anticipated frustrations are very likely coming to fruition and the reason I am frustrated is they could be (somewhat) avoided by leaders being leaders and getting the thing organized. Friends, if you hold a leadership position, think long and hard about your delivery and your skills and when you find them lacking, fix it. For the love, FIX IT. I'm sorry to the people I love most. The truth about me is I only need to vent when people aren't doing things right. When everyone is doing things the way I want, it's all good. I'm the boss because my way is right. I am very successful at most of the things I do so take note, okay? (Please to my new readers....read that in the context it's presented. It's half truth/ half jest/half exasperation. Of course I'm not always right...there is about 2% give or take.)
To combat this....I'm going to share some of my story from our European tour. Remember that?
Now. Now. I am giving you the full chance and opportunity to opt out right now. This has some details and tiddly bits that might make you uncomfortable. This is for the ladies in the group, but read on, if you are so inclined.
I went to Europe in October. I met Ryan there and we traveled through 5 countries and it was amazing. I am so, so grateful I got to have that experience. Again, for any new readers, I am not really equipped to be outside the borders of America. I hope I will do okay in heaven, but time will tell. (Please make it a teensy bit like America). Also I am not trying to be offensive, this is just my front line experience as reported by myself .
Do you know you have to pay to use the bathroom in Europe?! Like literally carry coinage, put it in a machine, get a ticket, and proceed to stall #3. Never have I ever.... Reasons this doesn't work for me. 1)I never carry cash. Never. I would have to buy stock in Depends. 2) It is time consuming! Sometimes
you are desperate and you just so happen to be in line behind an American who can't get their life in order. I suggest that Taco Bell stay stateside. 3) Going to the bathroom is a specific God given right. If someone is charging, the money had better be going to the work of Jesus.
My very first time needing to use a toilet, (and incidentally they just put it right on the outside sign: TOILETS. No sugarcoating: RESTROOMS.) I was in Germany at Neuschweinsten castle. Being at a tourist destination, the line was longish and we had men and women waiting. The separation between men and women toilets is very scarce. I also am not on board with this. Ryan didn't join so I was anxiously watching everyone in front of me. How were they operating the coin machine? Did they push any buttons? Is there any English on the machine? The line stopped for awhile, then people ducked under the gates and proceeded to the stalls. Me and one other guy remained and in came a large, loud German man. I am sweating bullets because I really need to use the restroom. Apparently the machine is broken and he is here to save the day; he is not allowing the two poor souls in line to get a freebie. He seems to fix it up and the guy in front of me puts his money in, and pushes the button, just like everyone before him. He proceeds. I do exactly the same thing, desperate to get behind a closed door.
He yells. "NEIN. NEIN. NEIN."
My face is literally the sheepish emoji with the teeth. Uhhh....
He bangs the machine. Speaks in German
Sheepish emoji.
Speaks in German and waves arms.
I believe I figured it out. The button was the rejected coin dispenser. Like for PacMan.
I am still trying to determine if he was angry because I was technologically challenged or because I was arrogantly daring to use a bathroom stall for free.
Literally every person in front of me did that. I was merely following suit. Now....what was I saying about leadership.... Hum. I guess there are more people than just myself who don't know how to pay to use the potty.
I recently had surgery and this surgery was a direct result of my European tour. And this is the part for the ladies.... Seriously, you can't be angry with me if you choose to continue...
You can imagine that of course I would get my period on my dream European vacation. If I were like most people who breeze right through it, fine. But alas, there is no breezing. Picture you are driving through Europe in a rented car, with limited supplies of underwear and clothes, you pretty much have no idea where you are going, and you are the passenger (the passenger cannot always express the direness adequately.) You don't know where the rest stops are, everything is in a different language, you are constantly being rerouted for construction, and you brought no protection with you. I mean...for the love.
I was so stressed out, certain I'd be scrubbing seats...with what, I can be certain. Kleenex and spit? We looked for a place to stop. I didn't want to waste time at the wrong stops, but we had no choice. I didn't want to get out of the car... I was sure it was too late. I'm tearing up. And there was nothing at the store. We proceed a few miles farther, which if we found nothing, meant we had to go twenty miles back to the freeway and my life was over.
I'd like to interject that my husband is my favorite. He handled me like a champ. All the way through Europe and he never complained. It was a very unfortunate complication that could have ruined the trip but he was so.very.understanding.and.patient. Triple gold star.
God in his divine Providence provided at the next stop. Ladies, I couldn't understand what was in my hands. 60 tampons in this tiny box?! Extra absorbent, no less? What was this madness?
We made it to the hotel, I rush to the bathroom, I open the box, and out pops a bullet.
Legit.
I audibly speak my thoughts.
Ryan asks if everything is okay.
"Uhh...I guess. Actually I'm not sure. I'm forty years old and about to learn a new old process. I have an extra absorbent bullet in my hand. I will have to read the directions." 5 months later my mind is still blown.
Ladies, it's very difficult to unwrap the plastic around said bullet. I wasted a few of the precious at a couple rest stops in Switzerland because those suckers slipped right out of my hands. I was not retrieving them....cool runnings, man. (You'll know what that means if you've seen the movie. Watch it during isolation.)
You have to twist and turn it to expand the product and then no applicator. It starts to look a little less like a bullet but all I can say is the manufacturers must not understand what it is to be traipsing through Europe with a heavy cycle, using paid stressful toilets, where you don't have a lot of time, and where all the goods and services are public and...no applicators.
"Oh hello, good sir, don't mind me. Just slipping right over here to the sink to wash my hands. No, no one was murdered today. Yet."
Oh. My. Word.
I took my trusty $45 duffel bag to Europe. I bought it at Walmart in 2011 before I went to Singapore. It's been all over, it's a trusted good friend. Take that, all you expensive luggage brands. It was just canvas over a frame, very simple. As I started to pack for the trip home, I realized my box of bullets wasn't going to fit. I emptied the box into the bag and stuffed the extra gifts and things in. Upon check in I noticed the bag had a somewhat large hole near the handle. You could look right inside the bag. I mentioned it to the lady, and all she would do is make me sign s paper stating the airline didn't make the hole. No tape? Really? In 2019?
I looked at Ryan.
I said: "I love this bag. He's been a great traveling companion, he got me on the bus in Malaysia, he got me to Salt Lake City, but I am fully prepared to leave him and all my worldly goods behind in Chicago. Because if he comes down the belt spraying bullets, I am not playing 52 pickup. I repeat, that's a hard no. Do we have an accord?"
We clasped hands and walked to security. Laughing the entire way. We are meant for each other.
This is how I know that I will make it through this pandemic and this life. I have a great companion. His name is Ryan.
Quite possibly the corona capital of the US...or close to it. I'm sitting on the couch in a quiet house because I'm not making my teenagers get up yet and my husband is already "working" in his very quickly converted home office. Do you know what? Before Amazon stopped shipping all of the things we want, they made a fortune in home office equipment sales. A fortune.
My life is changing this week and I have only complained to the people I love most, multiple times. My anticipated frustrations are very likely coming to fruition and the reason I am frustrated is they could be (somewhat) avoided by leaders being leaders and getting the thing organized. Friends, if you hold a leadership position, think long and hard about your delivery and your skills and when you find them lacking, fix it. For the love, FIX IT. I'm sorry to the people I love most. The truth about me is I only need to vent when people aren't doing things right. When everyone is doing things the way I want, it's all good. I'm the boss because my way is right. I am very successful at most of the things I do so take note, okay? (Please to my new readers....read that in the context it's presented. It's half truth/ half jest/half exasperation. Of course I'm not always right...there is about 2% give or take.)
To combat this....I'm going to share some of my story from our European tour. Remember that?
Now. Now. I am giving you the full chance and opportunity to opt out right now. This has some details and tiddly bits that might make you uncomfortable. This is for the ladies in the group, but read on, if you are so inclined.
I went to Europe in October. I met Ryan there and we traveled through 5 countries and it was amazing. I am so, so grateful I got to have that experience. Again, for any new readers, I am not really equipped to be outside the borders of America. I hope I will do okay in heaven, but time will tell. (Please make it a teensy bit like America). Also I am not trying to be offensive, this is just my front line experience as reported by myself .
Do you know you have to pay to use the bathroom in Europe?! Like literally carry coinage, put it in a machine, get a ticket, and proceed to stall #3. Never have I ever.... Reasons this doesn't work for me. 1)I never carry cash. Never. I would have to buy stock in Depends. 2) It is time consuming! Sometimes
you are desperate and you just so happen to be in line behind an American who can't get their life in order. I suggest that Taco Bell stay stateside. 3) Going to the bathroom is a specific God given right. If someone is charging, the money had better be going to the work of Jesus.
My very first time needing to use a toilet, (and incidentally they just put it right on the outside sign: TOILETS. No sugarcoating: RESTROOMS.) I was in Germany at Neuschweinsten castle. Being at a tourist destination, the line was longish and we had men and women waiting. The separation between men and women toilets is very scarce. I also am not on board with this. Ryan didn't join so I was anxiously watching everyone in front of me. How were they operating the coin machine? Did they push any buttons? Is there any English on the machine? The line stopped for awhile, then people ducked under the gates and proceeded to the stalls. Me and one other guy remained and in came a large, loud German man. I am sweating bullets because I really need to use the restroom. Apparently the machine is broken and he is here to save the day; he is not allowing the two poor souls in line to get a freebie. He seems to fix it up and the guy in front of me puts his money in, and pushes the button, just like everyone before him. He proceeds. I do exactly the same thing, desperate to get behind a closed door.
He yells. "NEIN. NEIN. NEIN."
My face is literally the sheepish emoji with the teeth. Uhhh....
He bangs the machine. Speaks in German
Sheepish emoji.
Speaks in German and waves arms.
I believe I figured it out. The button was the rejected coin dispenser. Like for PacMan.
I am still trying to determine if he was angry because I was technologically challenged or because I was arrogantly daring to use a bathroom stall for free.
Literally every person in front of me did that. I was merely following suit. Now....what was I saying about leadership.... Hum. I guess there are more people than just myself who don't know how to pay to use the potty.
I recently had surgery and this surgery was a direct result of my European tour. And this is the part for the ladies.... Seriously, you can't be angry with me if you choose to continue...
You can imagine that of course I would get my period on my dream European vacation. If I were like most people who breeze right through it, fine. But alas, there is no breezing. Picture you are driving through Europe in a rented car, with limited supplies of underwear and clothes, you pretty much have no idea where you are going, and you are the passenger (the passenger cannot always express the direness adequately.) You don't know where the rest stops are, everything is in a different language, you are constantly being rerouted for construction, and you brought no protection with you. I mean...for the love.
I was so stressed out, certain I'd be scrubbing seats...with what, I can be certain. Kleenex and spit? We looked for a place to stop. I didn't want to waste time at the wrong stops, but we had no choice. I didn't want to get out of the car... I was sure it was too late. I'm tearing up. And there was nothing at the store. We proceed a few miles farther, which if we found nothing, meant we had to go twenty miles back to the freeway and my life was over.
I'd like to interject that my husband is my favorite. He handled me like a champ. All the way through Europe and he never complained. It was a very unfortunate complication that could have ruined the trip but he was so.very.understanding.and.patient. Triple gold star.
God in his divine Providence provided at the next stop. Ladies, I couldn't understand what was in my hands. 60 tampons in this tiny box?! Extra absorbent, no less? What was this madness?
We made it to the hotel, I rush to the bathroom, I open the box, and out pops a bullet.
Legit.
I audibly speak my thoughts.
Ryan asks if everything is okay.
"Uhh...I guess. Actually I'm not sure. I'm forty years old and about to learn a new old process. I have an extra absorbent bullet in my hand. I will have to read the directions." 5 months later my mind is still blown.
Ladies, it's very difficult to unwrap the plastic around said bullet. I wasted a few of the precious at a couple rest stops in Switzerland because those suckers slipped right out of my hands. I was not retrieving them....cool runnings, man. (You'll know what that means if you've seen the movie. Watch it during isolation.)
You have to twist and turn it to expand the product and then no applicator. It starts to look a little less like a bullet but all I can say is the manufacturers must not understand what it is to be traipsing through Europe with a heavy cycle, using paid stressful toilets, where you don't have a lot of time, and where all the goods and services are public and...no applicators.
"Oh hello, good sir, don't mind me. Just slipping right over here to the sink to wash my hands. No, no one was murdered today. Yet."
Oh. My. Word.
I took my trusty $45 duffel bag to Europe. I bought it at Walmart in 2011 before I went to Singapore. It's been all over, it's a trusted good friend. Take that, all you expensive luggage brands. It was just canvas over a frame, very simple. As I started to pack for the trip home, I realized my box of bullets wasn't going to fit. I emptied the box into the bag and stuffed the extra gifts and things in. Upon check in I noticed the bag had a somewhat large hole near the handle. You could look right inside the bag. I mentioned it to the lady, and all she would do is make me sign s paper stating the airline didn't make the hole. No tape? Really? In 2019?
I looked at Ryan.
I said: "I love this bag. He's been a great traveling companion, he got me on the bus in Malaysia, he got me to Salt Lake City, but I am fully prepared to leave him and all my worldly goods behind in Chicago. Because if he comes down the belt spraying bullets, I am not playing 52 pickup. I repeat, that's a hard no. Do we have an accord?"
We clasped hands and walked to security. Laughing the entire way. We are meant for each other.
This is how I know that I will make it through this pandemic and this life. I have a great companion. His name is Ryan.
Sunday, March 15, 2020
Toilet Paper - Could There Be Another Title?
Good evening, dear friends, and unknown readers....
You are safe here. I don't know who comes and goes with any regularity.
These last seven days have been most irregular. Would it surprise you if I said I haven't been to the grocery store in 9 days? I am not the one buying toilet paper. I am not the one buying bread. I am not afraid of not having bread although I love it dearly. (I am the tiniest bit discouraged at the thought of no tea.)
I don't know what is going on out there. Is it a blockbuster movie come to life to change the course of our life? Is it the beginning of the Lord's return? Is it merely an illness and nothing else? Is the government actually turning itself upside down and inside out to the delight and full extent of every conspiracy theorist's thought?
I don't know.
I am not that deluded, nor am I that smart.
Friends. I don't NEED to know. I don't need to be smarter than the government. I don't need to be smarter than the CDC. I don't need to have watched every movie Steven Spielberg or Stephen King ever inspired.
I am a daughter of the only King. With that comes specific peace.
I don't want the government to turn upside down. I don't want martial law enforced or anything remotely close to that. I don't want to be without toilet paper (specifically two ply) or bread or cereal. (I'm a hungry type person.) I don't want a zombie to bite my head off or a mist to overtake me whereupon I find myself in the mouth of a 7 headed monster with eighteen rows of teeth. I also don't want to not be able to go to church or the library or Chili's. Look. None of that sounds appealing to me.
But I do not fear it. I do not fear any of what is going on.
I've often wondered about the "peace that passes understanding" that is described and preached and others more devout and holy than myself, talk about. When will I have it? When does it apply? Will I recognize it? Is it a way of life rather than an abstract idea? I'm certainly not a candidate for this although Jesus says I am.
Guess what? Emotional Angela, the one they always worry about being stable and able to handle life, emotional Angela.... does not feel emotional. (Except the tiniest bit about the tea thing)
This is the peace that passes understanding.
It's here. And you can have it.
You don't have to delve into the drama and trauma. You don't have to worry and wonder.
You can fix your eyes on the perfecter of your faith and walk in peace.
No matter what happens, you can already know the end of the story. You can get to live in heaven with Jesus who has been building and planning for your arrival since before the foundation of the earth.
It's an interesting and strange time, it might get more interesting and strange, but you can know peace. Peace that passes understanding. That's the presence of Jesus. He probably isn't going to bring me any tea but He's taking me to heaven one day and He is along for this ride wherever it's going.
May He continue to give me the courage to sit on a hill and the grace to shine well.
You are safe here. I don't know who comes and goes with any regularity.
These last seven days have been most irregular. Would it surprise you if I said I haven't been to the grocery store in 9 days? I am not the one buying toilet paper. I am not the one buying bread. I am not afraid of not having bread although I love it dearly. (I am the tiniest bit discouraged at the thought of no tea.)
I don't know what is going on out there. Is it a blockbuster movie come to life to change the course of our life? Is it the beginning of the Lord's return? Is it merely an illness and nothing else? Is the government actually turning itself upside down and inside out to the delight and full extent of every conspiracy theorist's thought?
I don't know.
I am not that deluded, nor am I that smart.
Friends. I don't NEED to know. I don't need to be smarter than the government. I don't need to be smarter than the CDC. I don't need to have watched every movie Steven Spielberg or Stephen King ever inspired.
I am a daughter of the only King. With that comes specific peace.
I don't want the government to turn upside down. I don't want martial law enforced or anything remotely close to that. I don't want to be without toilet paper (specifically two ply) or bread or cereal. (I'm a hungry type person.) I don't want a zombie to bite my head off or a mist to overtake me whereupon I find myself in the mouth of a 7 headed monster with eighteen rows of teeth. I also don't want to not be able to go to church or the library or Chili's. Look. None of that sounds appealing to me.
But I do not fear it. I do not fear any of what is going on.
I've often wondered about the "peace that passes understanding" that is described and preached and others more devout and holy than myself, talk about. When will I have it? When does it apply? Will I recognize it? Is it a way of life rather than an abstract idea? I'm certainly not a candidate for this although Jesus says I am.
Guess what? Emotional Angela, the one they always worry about being stable and able to handle life, emotional Angela.... does not feel emotional. (Except the tiniest bit about the tea thing)
This is the peace that passes understanding.
It's here. And you can have it.
You don't have to delve into the drama and trauma. You don't have to worry and wonder.
You can fix your eyes on the perfecter of your faith and walk in peace.
No matter what happens, you can already know the end of the story. You can get to live in heaven with Jesus who has been building and planning for your arrival since before the foundation of the earth.
It's an interesting and strange time, it might get more interesting and strange, but you can know peace. Peace that passes understanding. That's the presence of Jesus. He probably isn't going to bring me any tea but He's taking me to heaven one day and He is along for this ride wherever it's going.
May He continue to give me the courage to sit on a hill and the grace to shine well.
Monday, March 2, 2020
Baby Of Mine
Forty is kicking my ass. Typically I would not use the word "ass," but writers must choose the exact word for the moment, and "ass" is it. I am not entirely sure how the good Lord feels about that word as a noun for the "gluteal region" rather than an animal, but perhaps we'll have a conversation about that some day.
Mid-life crisis might be a thing.
So much is happening in quick succession that I don't have time to quite recover. The timing of all these events is uncanny and I am honestly not a fan of one thing after another after another.
I'm raising boys. There have been many difficult moments over the years, but unless I forget some key things, and God has probably graciously allowed that so as to save my sanity, middle school years trump it all to date. I have always been pleased at the age gap of my children, but I have one entering and one departing this school year and it's more than I can take. Many times, from those who have gone before, I have been told that eighth grade is the hardest. It's true. It's tough. And it's tough that the other guy who is supposed to be on my team is turning.
There is a distinct line, a pivotal, defining moment in the life of every boy. It is the moment that his mother no longer holds the moon. My last baby crossed that line last Wednesday and I have not recovered. I cried the entire way to work that day. I've cried every day since. I keep telling myself "You, Angela, have nerves of steel. Somewhere, deep down inside of you, you have nerves of steel that will shelter your heart from the pain your beloved child wants to impart." I'm still looking. I know it's there... Slightly out of reach for now.
My job as a parent is to raise two dependent babies to independent adulthood. They need to be able to understand who God is, they need to respect His authority and the authority of anyone who oversees them, they need to be productive, hardworking, kind, generous and many other lovely adjectives. In order to be successful, I am not permitted to be friends with my child.
If my son dislikes me because I have not given him what he desires, I do not get to yield. He may try to punish me and still I do not get to yield. My only job is to stick to the established guidelines and not cave to emotion.
Son, I see you. I see that you are growing and expanding your horizons. It has been my greatest joy to watch you do just these very things since day one. It has also been my greatest joy to hold the moon for you, and your brother, although it was getting a little heavy. It is difficult to live up to such a high standard. I am re-living each moment that I was your first choice. It was truly a gift. I know this separation has to happen because we are not going to be roommates until you are forty. Going through these changes with both you and your brother, pretty much simultaneously, is, well, my least favorite event in all my parenting years. I need to call your Grandpa and your Grandma and tell them "thanks" for getting me from Point A to Point B all those years ago. I also need to make some apologies. I'll expect the same from you in about thirty years. One thing you should know, beloved son, I really do have nerves of steel. I will not yield. Today, I am not your friend, but I hope that one day somewhere down the road that I will be.
You are so precious to me....
Cute as can be...
Baby of mine...
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