Tuesday, February 19, 2008

Time Flies

I got an e-mail last night from Vernon asking where's my public stuff, where am I writing now. I don't have any public stuff. I'm not writing now. His e-mail spurred this entry, I guess.

I'm sitting in Starbuck's in the university library with my bold brew and chocolate-covered graham crackers. The waistband on my pants is snug and not likely to get any looser if I don't take some action. Actually, I do work out three or four days a week, but still I've gained ten pounds, mostly in my mid-section, despite the kick boxing. I lack energy, I lack creativity, I lack initiative. I googled all my symptoms, including the chest pains, sleeplessness, etc., and it's almost certain I am experiencing depression. It's not in me to just accept it, nor to go to a doctor for meds, so I'm doing the magnesium, fish oil, exercise, fresh air bit. As much time as I spend googling health problems, I think I could probably practice medicine.

A girl named Michelle just came in and called across Starbuck's to a boy named David that they're having a birthday party for Sharla (Charla) and all chipping in together to buy her some fuzzy dice. She is wearing an orange and red North Face jacket. His is black. From where I am sitting, I can see 11 North Face jackets. If I turn around, I can probably see more, but if you've seen one you've seen them all. Or so I thought. Hannah got one last year, but somehow needed (?) another one this year.

How do mothers get through the teenage years? This week, there's Beta convention which requires new clothing; next week, there's the school beauty pageant--she's wearing a dress she's worn before, at least; two days after the pageant, cheerleader tryouts; later in March, she's someone's little sister in Junior Miss. Then there's gas and eating out and general public school expenditures. She also has a prom dilemma unfolding. When she comes home in the afternoon, it takes her 30 to 45 minutes to tell me about her day. I mostly listen attentively, sometimes sympathizing, sometimes advising, and always silently praying she is learning good lessons from these teenage dilemmas and will mostly make good decisions.

Some of these coffee drinks cost nearly $4. How do these college kids afford it? A North Face jacket just came in in a color I've never seen before.

A couple of days ago, I read with deep grief that Emmett Rosenfeld did not gain National Board certification this year. I had kept up with his blog last year as he went through the process. Most of you know that part of my new job is to support National Board candidates. When I read Emmett's news, I immediately wanted to get in touch with him and give advice, etc. , but then yesterday I saw that he has been inundated with advice about Entry 4. I somehow don't want to add my words to those that have been written already. Just too, too many words

Lizzie has a dog. I am crazy in love with him. Jennifer's dog had three puppies back in August, and she gave us one. A Pomeranian / Rat Terrier mix. I didn't know until one of the home school moms came over for a play date that he's a designer hybrid. She said, "Oh, wow! You have one of those designer hybrids!" What? He's a mutt. Turns out he's a Pomerat, a designer hybrid. All I know is I am deeply attached to him, and he has absolutely got to stop running cars. I've seen him almost get killed a couple of times. Every time I come home, I look for his little body in the road before I turn into the driveway. He has a name, but I've called him Pup Pup from the start. It made Lizzie mad initially, but now the whole family, including her, calls him Pup Pup.

These are possibly--no, definitely--the best chocolate-covered graham crackers I've ever had in my life.

I just don't have any get-up-and-go. I know it has to be some sort of imbalance; I know I should go to the doctor. I know. I'm reading Beth Moore's new Stepping Up, a study of the psalms of ascent. I don't normally like her stuff--I don't like her writing style--but the content of this is good. I just tune out her voice, and listen to God's. In all my years of Bible study, I never knew there were psalms of ascent. Check it out for yourself; google it. This may be what gets me out of the mire, please God.

You just don't leave something you loved with all your heart, soul, and mind for twenty years and not grieve. It has finally hit me, and I can't seem to throw it off. The anger is gone--mostly--but the sorrow is overwhelming.

News . . .news. . . .news. . ..What has happened since I wrote last. . . A lot, really. Almost too much to attempt to catch up on. Daddy had surgery for prostate cancer. Mama had two more shoulder surgeries, the latest one a replacement. She's in a lot of pain, which is not likely to get better for a while.

Lizzie has stopped accusing me every day of taking her away from her friends. She only accuses me a couple of times a week now. I don't have a defense, so I don't usually say anything. I stand dumb before my accuser. I worry about it. A lot. I wonder about the lasting effects it will have on her. On a good note, she and I are having some very rich times in our morning Bible study. I do not believe inteaching children doctrinal stands--hold your cards and letters, please--because I think if you fill them with the word of God, they can draw their own conclusions. I'm not saying they don't need some guidance if they're way off, but in my experience they don't usually get way off. It's simple, really. Love, faith, obedience. I read the biblical accounts to her, chronologically, of course, and she is very astute about getting to the core of what's happening. She has made some profound observations about Abel, Noah, Joseph, the children of Israel. She ponders the events in the Garden of Eden perhaps too much--she becomes very disturbed about this at times--but perhaps not too much, after all. I just will trust God to direct her thoughts. She understands faith and obedience in a deep way that is certainly not lived out in her own life with her parents. She is strong-willed and disobedient, to put it frankly, and I yearn for the day when her understandings, her heart, her head, her hands, her tongue, are all in one accord. She listens in disbelief to accounts of disobedience, lack of faith, lack of trust, strife, etc., and derisively scoffs at the lack of discernment evident in the accounts, but she doesn't make any connection between herself and the infidels. Come quickly to her, Lord Jesus.

I will not get another bold brew, though I want one. I will not get another pack of chocolate-covered graham crackers, though I want one. I will never have any energy, I will never get out of this hole, if I don't stop living on sugar and caffeine. I long for the day when my understandings, my heart, my head, my hands, and my tongue are all in one accord. Until then, there will be no peace for me.