Fall Festival

Last night was fun.

Brian and Brennan were chili judges. (Excuse the Owen Meany voice: BRENNAN WENT AND HE HAD FUN!)

Danny Angell--the one who recruited the judges--won the cook-off.

I forget now who was being "bad" at the time, but Debby Melton and I designed confessionals (in our minds) for the evening. Mine was a curtain made from some of the Halloween table cloths. Hers was simply for people to catch Larry while he was in the outhouse. ("Hey, Larry! You in there? I have something I need to tell you!") I told Debby I didn't know she had it in her. (I lied then. Should have watched for Larry.)

Jim Macht loves retirement. Wish I could be there, too, but no use in wishing my life away.

The kids swarmed for trunk-or-treat.

Corn hole challenges hung in the air--mostly around the men who weren't part of the cook-off.

I think Brian was more "Brian" at a church function than he's been in a LONG, LONG time.

Bittersweet

Saw Mallory at the grocery today. Thank goodness I had Charissa. We got to talk a few moments, then we had to move on. Before we did, she cried. I nearly did, too. "I miss you guys so much. I want to come back."

She didn't want to leave in the first place and I certainly didn't want her to. How I miss them all!

I wish I'd kept that one e-mail

I may be a MEDIA specialist, but I'm learning, in my CAVE, to hate technology more and more.

Rich came over to copy some items on my all-in-one. My all-in-one was acting up, so, after a few moments of tinkering with trouble-shooting, Rich resorted to online chat. After nearly an hour of fiddling, the tech decided that the best thing would be to send me a new printer (again) and we proceeded with return details. At the end of the conversation, Alan promised that "it will take 5 to 7 business days to reach the printer at your door."

This is my second replacement printer in about six months. Rarely do you have to do this with books, pens, or paper.

Actually, got a chisel and some stone?

"With God, all things are possible."

My bookmark spoke to me this morning.

Actually, it's not the first time it did. The first time it did, it screamed at me. Do you know what happens when you are in a store and an item screams at you? Of course you do. You buy it.

And that is exactly what I did. I bought it and I brought it home to remind myself that...well, nothing is impossible as long as God is in it.

My question then, though, was just that--was God really in it? Was He the one who had put this silly notion of adopting a daughter into our heads? Had this been His plan from the beginning or was it just a whim on our parts? It was April, 2004, and here we were, asking to do what seemed impossible. Could it be that this thing was possible?

I got my answer in April, 2005.

So now, when I ran across the bookmark this morning--still in its package, mind you; it's too special to actually be used right now to do its job--I was reminded of when and why I bought it in the first place. And now it is reminding me that the other requests that at this time look impossible actually aren't at all because I know for a fact God is in it. I have another promise to tell me that: "Ask, and it will be given to you..."

Sharon Valentine said my mind is a scary place

I awakened at 3:30 yesterday morning because Brian's alarm went off. Know what one of my first thoughts was? "God is omnipotent. He doesn't need anything. Knowing this, how is it that He knew what need was and how to create that need in us?"

Don't ask. I have no clue. And I'm not talking about the answer to the question.

MUST be in the air

I'm dealing with a few of my struggles today. The past attacks me every once in a while. Today was the "while." Baggage stinks, but I'll be OK.

I still have this unsettled feeling, but I think the settling is about to occur. If a decision comes from within, I'll be on it.

And...

still stewing...

Stewing

After several years of just wanting to sit on the sidelines, I finally want to do something again at church. I've had some folks who say they will "get back," but nothing, so far, has happened. I'm wondering about the next step. I'm wondering if Bob was right when he said I shouldn't discount a couple things I discounted a long time ago.

I am wondering where I fit. I have a fear of what usually happens: thinking I've found a "fit," only to find it isn't one; actually, it is more than fear. It's terror. If you know my history, you understand why.

A new step

I realized this morning that getting past finding my faith to find Jesus is harder than anything I've ever done. I like theory and philosophy. Finding a Person scares me to death.

Disturbing

Last night, Bart received a call from a fellow who isn't exactly a terribly good friend, but they spent a year in a room together without killing each other (a feat for both of them), so I guess you could say they have one thing in common, at least. The friend is probably ensconced at the college of which Bart finally took leave this summer and he knows it all. Just ask him.

We laugh about Stephen, but the truth is that, once we get past Stephen's obnoxious side, he probably was one of the better friends Bart had, and this is why: he probably didn't go around behind Bart's back labeling him and developing "theories" on who he is becoming just because he's smart enough to ask questions and deep enough to want understanding; but (I'm about to stoop to the level of some of LBC's patrons here) when you're taught that the answers are right there in the minds of the biblical scholars who know exactly what God wants because they know the ins-and-outs of Scripture (like that is really possible), what more can you expect?

I'm trying to comfort Bart now--the one who feels like he's been skewered by those who claimed to be his friends--but I'm mostly giving him the standard "let-it-slide-what-do-you-expect-from-them" advice. It isn't much, but this time it feels more right than it usually does. After all, what can you expect?

Uh...let her rephrase that

Bart and Charissa came to Bible study at school this morning. After it was over, he headed out to take her to the sitter's. Cassie, one of our sweet senior girls, saw Bart, then she saw Nicole down the hall. She decided to inform Nicole that Bart was around.

"Hey, Nicole!" she called. "Your boyfriend's here with the baby!"

Cassie told me later through a red face, "That's how things get started."

Knowing "Better"

So my Dad ended up at a store yesterday, as usual, only to run into a former family member. (We still claim her.) Being the proud grandpa that he is, he told her about Charissa. To make a longer story shorter, he mentioned her to another lady who came into the store. Who knows? He probably showed off her picture to the ladies, as well. Our former family member oohed and aahed and probably not in a polite way. She loves people--especially kids. The other lady, though...

"She's a foreigner." You know. Like, "Big deal; she shouldn't be here anyway."

Now this lady was the same one who, a while before we got Charissa, told Dad that we would regret getting a "foreign baby," so why on earth he took the time to even say anything to her about Charissa is beyond me, but that's beside the point right now. He did. And her reaction created a fire in him that several have seen through the years. Dad has a temper. He has an opinion, too, and he's usually not afraid to share it. Part of that opinion in this matter, of course, is that his reaction was right; after all, that's part of those of us who are opinionated. I'm right. You're wrong. 'Nough said.

But as he was telling me this the first time, I had an unusual reaction. I wasn't angry; I was hurt, but not angry. I wasn't ready to rip this person's head off. I wasn't ready to go teach her any type of lesson, except I did want to drive to her house, walk to her front door, and wait for her to come and say something to me personally as I was holding Charissa, just to see if she would, but that was it. For me, that's a pretty mild reaction. By the time he'd told me the second time (he kind of forgot that he'd told me before, but when I reminded him that he had, the fact didn't matter), he had gone from just talking about it to calling her unrepeatable names (Dad's from the old school) and to saying she'd better not even try to come around again and if he saw her in the turnip patch, he'd run her off.

And I sat there and kind of defended her. I felt sorry for the lady. I mean truly sorry. What in life can make you so miserable that you lash out even over a fourteen-month-old child?

Bart and I discussed it later. He said that getting in her face and denying her what she's been allowed in the past would only breed more bitterness in her life. (See? He knew she was a bitter person without having the benefit of meeting her.) I thought that the minute you defend yourself against something like this, you "protest too much"--you seem to add credence to the other's idea that you did something wrong, but I said that what we'd heard in Care Group the night before is what ran through my mind as I considered the situation. Our wise elder (Jared Perkins's daddy-in-law) said that, when situations arise with folks like that--where the ugliness of humanity pervades the peaceful, joyful life you're trying to live--all you can do is love the folks who cause you pain. They don't know how to react. They can't handle it. They know how to handle anger and lashing out, but they don't know how to handle love. And as often as I've read about and have Jesus's love and as much as I knew this to be the case, I never remembered it when my family was attacked--not, I believe, until the Holy Spirit we'd discussed the week before reminded me just hours before I needed to remember it.

I still want to go to her house and I still want to face her with Charissa in tow, but my dream now is that I drive up the road where she lives only to have my car break down right in front of her house. In my dream, my cell is either dead or on the nightstand where I forgot it and I have to go to her house to borrow her phone. If that happens, I know that I had nothing to do with it--except probably pray for it.

I just hope I remember to let Him take care of the rest.

The truth of the matter: in ramblings

If I wanted to throw the blame on others as I often do, I'd say I'm getting frustrated with the Spirit; however, the Spirit isn't the problem here. The real truth is that I'm getting frustrated with myself. This is a good thing, but it isn't pleasant.

Last night was a demonstration of just how immature I am. We've had more issues with Brett's schooling and this time the problems are mostly my own fault. I won't go into them for the fear of the wrong folks getting the news before (hopefully) it is resolved, but I will say that, when I first got wind of the trouble, I called Brett at work specifically to let him have it for his irresponsibility. Turned out that later I had to call him back to tell him that he wasn't the biggest problem in the picture, but I was; however, in the midst of all the discoveries, I sent my mind toward God for a split second before my heart took over. Don't you hate it when you find out just how nasty your heart is? I mean, I think I'm getting it all together, only to find that that's the last thing that's happening.

Add to this my weekly rants about how I need more help and fussing at my husband, who usually works 60+ hours a week to help make ends meet, for not being there and my whole self-perspective just flies out the window.

THEN Bob started talking about how we should be the ones that folks notice not complaining about things and...well, let's just say that I want to give up.

And maybe I should in a way. The choices are up to me, but the change isn't. Yes. I'm responsible for the desire, but Jesus is responsible for the rest. I have to give up and give in. That's so hard.

I thought about this as we listened in Sunday school this morning. I thought on it hard. But what was the first thing I did once we left church? I embellished what should have been a comment with "the rest of the story" that could have been left out.

That makes me mad.