How you doin'?
I don't even know how to tell you how I am. Actually, I just realized that I began a post here a month ago which I never finished. Want to see it? Here you go:
There is a verse in the bible that says "walk by faith, not by sight." While I concede that there my be practical limitations to the total application of this tidbit of proverbial wisdom, the spiritual and metaphorical truth is undeniable. Never more so than for me this past week.
It is so easy for me to get entirely wrapped up in the chaos I see around me, especially that within my own household. "Walking by sight" would frequently mean panic. Walking by faith means that I can comfortably acknowledge that I haven't the foggiest notion of how to best interpret the circumstances around me. If I rely on the Goodness of God, and trust in His Sovereignty, then I am far less inclined to curing up in the fetal position.
It seems like we endure a remarkable amount of high drama in this family. I, by nature, am less even-keeled than I might be. Indeed, I've had to learn how to keep my eyes on the One Who is always Assured so that I am not upended by the storms of life.
I wonder if part of the reason we are not to walk by sight is that we so seldom see things as they really are? I can't tell you the number of times I have thought that things were moving along so peacefully, only to find that catastrophe was upon me and I never saw it coming. Or, times I thought things were just dreadful, yet they turned into a blessing in disguise.
The trick, of course, is to remember that in the heat of the moment. When the proverbial rug is pulled out from under me, it's very difficult to bear in mind that I don't have enough perspective to see the situation clearly.
For instance, my beloved son's addiction has been spiraling out of control (as if it was ever in control!)....yet, the result is that he chose to check himself into rehab. Panicking about that would have been an exhausting waste of my energy. Of course, I've no idea what will happen next, either.
On Wednesday afternoon, I received a phone call from my husband. His ringtone is "Let's Get it On," by Marvin Gaye, so I always answer his calls with a twinkle in my eye.
"I fell at work. I'm at the doctor. I'm having memory problems." He sounded distinctly unromantic.
"Where are you?" I asked, while my stomach flipped.
"I have no idea. Across the street from Jackson's, near work" which was less specific than one might hope for in terms of directions, but it served to point me south. For Tim to say "I have no idea" regarding his location was truly alarming.
Fortunately, I found him directly, after weaving through traffic at a high rate of speed. He was answering the doctor's questions.
"What year is it?" inquired the physician.
"I don't know."
"Do you know who the President is? This is kind of a trick question." The doctor smiled at me.
Tim turned to me with a quizzical expression, "I don't know."
"Well," said the doctor,"Who is the last president you recall?"
"I don't know."
Memory problems, indeed.
The doctor was comfortable diagnosing a concussion, but sent us to the nearest emergency room for further study.
.....That ended rather abruptly, although I can't recall what called me away from typing. I can tell you how it ended up, since you are likely curious. Tim had no memory for a day. He had a bump on his head, and missed several days of work. His memory came back, though, within hours. He still can't remember much of the actual day of his injury, but at least he can remember ten seconds ago. That was not the case as we sat in the emergency room that day. Talking with him then was a lot like talking with an Alzheimer's patient. We had the same conversation every three minutes on repeat. It was like this:
"How did we get here? Did you drive? Can we afford this? Where are the kids? WHAT HAPPENED TO MY TOOTH? Did you drive us here? Where are we? Where are the kids? My tooth is broken! What happened to my tooth?"
- Which actually leads directly into another funny story. See, about two weeks before the bump on the head, Tim had broken a tooth while eating popcorn. Despite my earnest pleadings for him to go see a dentist, he staunchly insisted that he was fine. It was no big deal. No need to see a dentist, at all.
Fast forward to the head injury where he totally forgot that the fragment of tooth was no big deal.
"What happened to my tooth???" He'd ask
"You broke it on popcorn a couple weeks ago." I explained (while fighting a smile)
"A COUPLE WEEKS AGO? Have I been to the dentist??!!!"
"No dear."
This appeared to mystify him, and he'd thoughtfully prod the affected area carefully with his tongue for several seconds before asking me how we got to the emergency room.
Hilarious in retrospect. Terrifying at the time.
And, no, he still hasn't gone to the dentist. Apparently, the broken tooth is no big deal.
Also, my beloved son checked himself out of detox and is now gainfully employed. So, we have that going for us.
I was trying to explain to the ladies in my bible study group today why I am just that little bit tense. It seems to have something to do with the dissonance that occurs when dealing with the normal annoyances of parenting, threats of prison gang attacks, and your marijuana enriched thug life. It's more than I'm really comfortable folding into my life, if you want to know the truth. You'd sure think I'd be better at it by this time, but you would be wrong. I'm not any better at it. I may, in fact, be worse.
Plus, there's more. For real. If I'd write more frequently, perhaps I wouldn't drivel for pages and pages, yet, here we are.
Anyway:
I signed up to run Robie Creek. It's a thing. It's a half marathon which no sane person would do on purpose. It's 8 miles up hill and 5 down. I think I need to prove that I can do it. So, I appear to also need some therapy, and potentially some anti-inflammatory meds, as the training is going to be brutal.
On that note, I am going to hit "publish" because I really cannot ask you to commit much more of your day to reading my ramblings.
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