Monday, June 29, 2009
Please keep praying for my beautiful Vanessa as she makes some good decisions and then seemingly immediately usurps them with idiocies at times. Two steps forward, one step back crashing into, "What were you thinking?' screeches from me.
My first thought this morning involved Theresa's daughter, Erica, and her liver transplant surgery.
I'm of the believer mode that when God wakes one up, inexplicably in the middle of the night, it is solely and obviously for prayer, and God'll put in your mind who you need to pray for right then. Maybe this is peculiarly Southern, possibly a pentecostal thought, or perhaps just another eccentric oddity of my own life that I believe strongly in at all times.
For me, it's simply difficult to deny when it happens, two nights ago though, right around 4 a.m., it was clearly obvious to me that I should pray specifically for Cindy Adams, Linda B in Athens, and an older couple in my church where the wife now has a hospice nurse. Does this mean that those folks were right that minute desperately needing prayer?
Nope, it just meant I was called to pray right at that minute. I'll never claim to understand prayer, nor even how it works. I've predictably struggled with the fact that since He is God, why would He even need folks to pray? He already knows how everything is gonna turn out, etc. But even knuckleheaded folks like me finally understand that they'll never have the answers, just that they need to be obedient to His ways.
My seven kids who'd been on the retreat all weekend were too tired last night to even begin to make sense, telling me about tossing a football in Wal-mart at midnight with Pastor Bronson, and swimming at one in the morning in a nearby pool while thinking about how close to home they were at the moment. "Ya missed me?" I teased Allen, knowing he totally did, while JoJo pushed him, as utterly exhausted as he was, to the brink with his own annoying antics.
And if I see anymore young folks dying unexpectedly such as Billy Mays and this man, I'm going to become paranoid regarding my own age as I'm tantalizingly close to 55 now. Two men from my teen years, recently deceased, adding to my grumblings. I'm truly feeling I'm only at the halfway mark here in my fifties. Let's keep healthy y'all, which reminded me of an email last night from Jane regarding a movie I've both wanted to see and to discuss with Sarah.
We're already halfway through the ten weeks of summer vacation from school and still have a long litany of to-dos yet to go. Our rain chance dryly blew by me yesterday, my gardens are parched and listless. I'm reading Annie's Garden Journal: Reflections on Roses, Weeds, Men and Life and snickering constantly at this transplanted New York City girl living in California with an attitude, talking about no matter how hard she works, her gardens still look like Hell. Oh honey, can I relate to that one.
I will never, ever catch up, much less keep up, even when the kids are grown, and it's nice to know that others are over-worked and swamped with unfinished garden chores.
We're hauling in a great deal to eat, while the weeds, not needing water to flourish, are marching forward, no they're bounding forward, hysterically laughing at me, the garden warrior who simply can't begin to keep up, but who will keep on trying, as if that's my sole purpose in life.
But go back and watch this movie trailer to see why I feel it's so important on so many levels to grow food organically. I'm a political conservative, a Republican church lady, who is as radical as they come regarding food politics and nutrition. As a Christian, how can I quietly allow another generation to eat the crap that is passed off as food? How can I not teach my children to recycle? To use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without?
To live simply? And happily? Close to God and to nature? How can I not do that?