Chrismess

I'm not really sure how I'm going to deal with The Holiday. Christmas, I mean. You see, I'd just gotten to where I was able to do it again, after Himself's passing. Capt wasn't huge into it, but he knew I had been (based on the many bins of decorations I had), and 2 years ago was the first time since 2014 I'd really been able to get all those decorations out, the many years of Santa mugs, garlands, lights, wreaths, sparkly things and ornaments collected, and enjoy them. 

But now...dangit. I gave my big lighted tree to #2, as he had said he wanted to put one up for his roommates. He's house manager in a Sober Living Facility, and the men he's sharing an apartment with are all recovering from addictions. He wants to make Christmas feel like...y'know...CHRISTMAS for them. So I gave him my tree. I didn't want it. 

I had a minor spark of "put up a decoration, Peg. You know you want to" so I went to the local Hobby Lobby, bought a $10 tabletop fake tree, a box of small ornaments, and a tiny garland. Now it's on the living room cabinet, looking mildly festive and that's about all I can muster at the moment. Who knows, another spark might happen and I'll put out a couple more things. But if it doesn't, whatever. No big deal and I am the only one in this house anyway so what's the point? It's about like cooking myself a big 3 course meal when I could get as much nutrition from a PowerBar and an orange.  

Merry #*@($^  Chrissmess y'all.

Though I think I should get a little credit, as I've been making those cookies to give out. Biscotti, in particular. I started making them as Christmas goodies probably 30 years ago. People responded positively to them, I like making them, and I prefer giving food anyway because they don't have to figure out what to do with them. 

When you have kids at home, and the nuclear family is all in one piece, Christmas is easy. You decorate, you go to Church Events like pageants and Ornament Making Parties. You sing carols with friends, go to parties with your spouse, or host them. Or both. Calendars are full. You put lights all along your porch rails and hang them from the eaves. You go to those Light Shows (like at Callaway Gardens) and enjoy the looks on your children's faces, drink hot chocolate...there's SO MUCH. And I'm sure lots of single people do those things too, things like Friendsgiving Dinner, and all the stuff you see on the Hallmark Channel. 

But for the person who's still grieving, and I know it's another Season, not a permanent situation, so don't think I'm getting bitter...I'm just explaining something...for the person who's grieving, it's different. Bittersweet and painful. The Holidays are rife with memories. The times I surprised Himself with something he'd always wanted. The times Capt and I took a trip or had a bonfire or spent the entire day in our pajamas eating junk food because we could. 

But now, It's got a different flavor. I think about how God was willing to be born as a man, live with the physical shortcomings and fully understand what we, as humans with our failings, go through, and then die as a man when He was capable of blinking and making it stop but He didn't. I think about Mary, who knew better than anyone Who this little baby was that she carried for 9 months. She risked losing everything, even her life, by being an unwed mother back then. She could have said no. Joseph could have rejected her. All sorts of things could have happened but didn't. 

Don't get me wrong, I don't insist that Jesus's birthday is actually December 25. I don't really think it matters that much. The only part that matters is that He was born. That's it. The date isn't really important. Our modern day chooses to celebrate it on a particular day in December and so why not.

I guess my point now is that, since losing both Himself and Capt, and since all my kids are grown and gone, the focus of the Holiday has changed radically for me. I am learning to be OK with it. I am going to do other things than parades and parties and lights on the porch. I'll read a lot. Isaiah's prophecy about Jesus's birth...

 The people who walk in darkness will see a great light; Those who live in a dark land, the light will shine on them.  Isaiah 9:2

For a child will be born to us, a son will be given to us; And the government will rest on His shoulders; And His name will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Eternal Father, Prince of Peace. There will be no end to the increase of His government or of peace, On the throne of David and over his kingdom, To establish it and to uphold it with justice and righteousness From then on and forevermore. The zeal of the Lord of hosts will accomplish this.  Isaiah 9:6-7

Then the fulfillment of that prophecy in the second chapter of Luke:

In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree that a census should be taken of the entire Roman world. (This was the first census that took place while Quirinius was governor of Syria.) And everyone went to their own town to register.

So Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the house and line of David. He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in clothes and placed him in a manger, because there was not guest room available for them.

And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks by night. an angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them "Do not be afraid, I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger."

Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God by saying,

Glory to God in the highest heaven,

and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests"

When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, "Let's go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about."

So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told.

So there it is. Christmas. Pondering like Mary about what-all it means. I'm pretty much forgoing the business...BUSY-NESS of Christmas because I want to. Instead, I'm going to read and re-read Isaiah and Luke...it honestly never, ever gets old. Every time I read it I am more impressed and amazed at the work God has done, is doing, and will do in this world, all because He wants to and loves us more than we can possibly imagine. 

Dear Capt,

Happy Thanksgiving, sweetheart! You were missed today, many people said so. They all agreed you were looking down from Heaven with approval. 

A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; Ecclesiastes 3:4

Your mother misses you very much. We talked about you a bit, until she said she couldn't anymore without getting emotional and you know how she is about that. I am the same way, agreed with her, and we moved on to discussing camellias. Young E has been collecting camellia seeds from their bushes, and plans to grow them to sell. B is much more relaxed (as much as she can be) now that Aunt E is living there. The apartment they built for her is really nice! A lot bigger than I thought it would be. 

You'd be proud of Mr E. Since he retired, he's grown a bodacious beard that honestly rivals yours. Apparently he got tired of 25 years of military shaving and stepped away from the razor. He is also incredibly relaxed, more than I've ever seen him, and he cooked the turkeys. While they weren't your amazing deep fried ones, he did a spectacular job (especially considering it was the first time he'd ever done it) cooking them on the grill. He brined them, spatchcocked them, and grilled them. They were excellent.

Aunt E was cheerful and had a trunk full of lemons for everyone. Miss A was there, with a red wig and as cheerful, polite, and forgetful as ever. I love her. No one is a stranger to her, probably because everyone is. She is so gracious.

Pastor B said his Bulgarian trip went really well. No hiccups, all the missionaries are doing well, and 4 new churches have been planted. 

Miss C was bemoaning her shortness, fairly sure she will never grow any taller than her current 5 feet. D and A tried to encourage her, but your mom whispered to me that she'd probably always be short.

There were babies there! A whole new generation coming up to enjoy the attention and food! Your father gave T's baby (he's 4 months old now and I've never met a more cheerful little one) a turkey leg bone to gnaw on. 

D's A brought that cream cheese-chocolate chip sugar-crash stuff she always brings. It was universally agreed that it was PMS food and men needed to stay away. Your mom brought homemade wine and this cranberry butter (like apple butter, only...y'know...cranberries) to put on top of a cheese cake and oh my. I'm getting the recipe for that.

I made a crockpot of collard greens and you will flinch to know that the interior of the truck now smells like collards, and the New Smell is all gone. Sorry, hun. What was I thinking? No one ate the pecan pie I brought, which is fine because now I can serve it Saturday, and don't have to get another one. Who's going to get a slice of store-bought pecan pie when it's sitting next to cheesecake with cranberry butter, and lemon squares made from Aunt E's own lemons? NO ONE. I know I didn't!

Sweetheart, you were missed. Everyone said so. They said it was strange not having you there. A tear or two were shed, but not for long because we all knew you are celebrating the greatest Thanksgiving ever, every single day. I wasn't sure I'd be able to make it through the day without falling apart, but thanks to babies and Big Pharma, I made it through just fine. Missing you, wishing you were there to handle the turkeys, but made it. As I was leaving, your Dad told me he was sorry you and I didn't have more time together. I said I was as well, but I was thankful for the time that we did have. 

So now I have a container full of leftover dressings, creamer peas, and green bean casserole I can enjoy later on, and a mind full of happy thoughts thanks to your amazing family that treats me like I belong there. Thank you so much for bringing me into it. 

This is how I imagine you in Heaven. Going fishing.

Thanksgiving

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. I'm going to do my best. It is when Capt's family has their reunion, and some 50-ish (or so, I think) people will get together and catch up on the previous year. I saw a bunch of them at his funeral service, but didn't have much of a chance to visit, as, well...you know. I wasn't really in the mood.   Anyway, tomorrow morning some time I'll make the 2 hour drive South, with a crockpot full of collard greens and a pecan pie, and a bottle of xanax in my purse. I know I'll get emotional without some sort of pharmaceutical help and I'd prefer to not do that, if at all possible. It's excusable at a funeral, even expected, but to be a slobbering blubbery mess at what's supposed to be a joyful and festive event would be a real downer. I won't do it and if I have to take a tranquilizer then I will. I ain't ashamed.

The first time I met The Whole Fam-Damily (as he'd put it) was Thanksgiving 2017. We were just starting to get serious about our relationship and he decided It Was Time. I was initially a little intimidated, but they're a friendly and welcoming crowd so that didn't last long. His mother in particular. I don't think I've ever met a warmer, more kind hearted person. Anyway. We went on Wednesday and stayed through Saturday, when the Biggest Game of the Season, The Iron Bowl, is played. That's when University of Alabama and Auburn University play and it is a SERIOUS rivalry. Capt's family all (except for Cousin Mike) went to University of Alabama. Mike went to Auburn but they don't talk about that. So did I. Went to Auburn, that is. There is a heavy-duty party that Saturday, with beer and snacks and 4 television sets and a radio, all broadcasting the game from a U of AL perspective. And well. That was one of the occasional years that Auburn won. Oops. 

Over the few years since, Capt and his family have been nice to me about it. Even his father, who takes the game far more seriously than most people. He got a little Auburn magnet to stick on the side of the Alabama Crimson Beer Fridge. I truly was honored and felt very loved by that. 

So anyway, tomorrow is a Holiday. Those are hard when you're grieving, especially the first couple of them after a beloved's passing away. I am still struggling a bit, and will for some time. It's ok, it's to be expected and I know that. I still haven't really gone into his office to take stock and figure out things. I just....can't. It's too daunting, too fraught with memories and spilling over with his personality. What do I do with his framed diplomas? The pictures of his beloved dogs, that I never knew? 

I was looking at some pictures today, of him when he was much younger...in his 20's and 30's, I didn't know him then, but I see his smile and stocky build. I imagine that's what he's going to look like in Heaven, healthy and smiling and handsome. While I miss him, so very much, I am thankful he's not sick anymore. He was frustrated, angry with life, depressed, and felt like he'd let me down. Now he's not. Thank God for that.  

I am truly, deeply thankful that I got 5 years with him, that I got 4 years of him healthy and vigorous and full of vitality.  I am beyond thankful that he's with Jesus, healthy and whole and perfected. I know he wasn't perfect here. Neither am I. No one is. I don't put him on a pedestal and pretend he was. But, I remember the good parts. His smile, his hugs, the way he cared about everyone, whether he liked them or not. 

Yes, I miss him, but I am also very, very Thankful.

Honeycomb

 Have you ever noticed how infectious an attitude can be? You can have a group of people and if one of them is being a noodge about everything, it can bring the rest of the group down, or it will take the efforts of 2 or 3 others working hard to counter-act it. On the other hand, if you're, as an individual, feeling a bit down, one person being kind and funny can bring you right up out of it.

I have a couple of friends here who excel at bringing me right out of self-pity. Not by making me ignore what's going on in my life, or trying to convince me It Will All Be Ok, but by simply making me laugh. 

I was missing Capt terribly one morning, and expressed that I was missing his hugs. So, a friend called me a little later, and loudly (everything he does is kinda loud) 'hugged' me over the phone. I needed that. We talked a little and he made me laugh. I always feel a bit better after talking with him. Another friend, who's a very funny person I've known since childhood, took me out and again, we laughed. A lot. Wine may or may not have been involved. (ahem). The effects of all that laughter lasted several days. Better than any pharmaceutical, to be sure. 

Pleasant words are like a honeycomb, sweetness to the soul and health to the bones. Proverbs 16:24

I am immensely grateful for having a couple of people in my life that can make me laugh in such uncomplicated ways. I'm not really like that, able to make people laugh the ways they do. It's a real gift they both have and I'm not even sure they're aware of how valuable that it. Me, I give jelly and pickles. It's what I know how to do. I can make people laugh sometimes,  but a person needs a pickle now and again, and that's the truth. 

And they don't try to FIX thing. Some things can only be fixed by God. Some things, no matter how much we want them to, WON'T be fixed by God because that's not in His plan. Oh, how I prayed that week Capt was in the hospital, that he'd be healed. I knew God could. I knew God heard my prayers, and the ones by everyone else...his family, friends, people we'd asked to pray for him. But that wasn't what God had in the plan, since the beginning of time. 

He did, however, know I'd need some help afterwards, and had all that in place at the right time. He did the same thing when Himself passed away. There were people, ones who made me laugh, let me cry, all those necessary actions for recovery from such a huge shock. 

Oil and perfume make the heart glad, and the sweetness of a friend comes from his earnest counsel.  Proverbs 27:9

I have been immensely blessed; far, far beyond anything I could deserve. I have friends.

Warm socks and toilet paper

I can tell. Today is going to be One of Those Days. Anyone who's been in the middle of grief knows what I mean. The least little thing will inevitably set me off. I'll have to sit down, and make sure there's a box of tissues (ok, I'm being fancy. In my case it's actually a roll of toilet paper because I never remember to buy tissues)  handy, and tell myself there's not really anything that important to do right now.

I'ma need one-a these.

Actually there kinda is. Company's coming this weekend in the form of a wonderful young couple I got to know through Capt. He (I'll call him D) lived with Capt as a teenager, and they became very close. She (I'll call her A) is D's wife. They lived with us for several months when their living situation caved in. It was fabulous. Anyway, they're coming and I need to make up the bed in the guest room, clean the bathroom, and make a pot of chili. Then this afternoon I'm working with Dad at a university event, for a few hours. So yeah, there's stuff to be done and all I feel like doing is sitting on the couch with a roll of toilet paper, feeling sorry for myself.

 The LORD is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. Psalm 34:18

I think God knows when I need to be doing stuff. I am prone to self-pity sometimes, and it's not a good look. I am impatient with it in others, so am also with myself.  But I am taking a few moments anyway. There's a nice cup of coffee, and I lit the peppermint candle. It's one of the few candle scents that won't send my asthmatic lungs into a tizzy. There's frost on the ground outside, and that means I get to employ a wool sweater (rare opportunity in East Alabama) and thick socks. God's lining things up nicely to provide some comfort here.

There's a lot of thinking to do. It can be done while making beds and scrubbing toilets and browning beef. There will be music, stuff with which I can sing along. Probably tylenol as well. This grief business gives me a headache. 

But yeah, this morning, a lot of background stuff is hitting me in the figurative feels. I am the sort of person who sees the mistakes I've made to the exclusion of the good things I've done. I see myself as a fairly terrible person most of the time. (Honestly, I'm not looking for anyone to tell me otherwise, I'm just saying what's on my mind). I wish I could see the good stuff, maybe I wouldn't be so hard on myself all the time. But, this morning I was taking account, and, as usual, my brain started throwing up on me....all the THINGS. IF ONLY....WHY...WHAT WERE YOU THINKING (oh that's right....YOU WEREN'T). All the regrets, missteps, thoughtlessness. IF ONLY....Capt would have been happier/healthier/this wouldn't have happened...IF ONLY...Himself would have/could have/that wouldn't have happened.

2 of my sons pointed out, recently, that I was shouldering too much of the responsibility. Capt and Himself were grown men who made decisions about their lives. BUT...I said. No, Mom...they were grown men, not puppets you manipulated. You see, both of them died, essentially, as a consequence of dietary and lifestyle decisions THEY made. Not because I did or didn't do something.  Thing is, it's almost easier for me to accept responsibility somehow, than to accept that I wasn't responsible. Strange way of thinking, no? And why did it take a 23 year old to point that out to me? How did my kid get so wise?

Nonetheless, today, I am sad. I miss them both. I miss the things we had and the things we won't have. I know if Himself hadn't died I'd never have met Capt. What a ball of weird emotion that thought causes. I miss the evenings on the patio with Himself, a glass of bourbon and a cigar on the table next to him. I miss the mornings with Capt, hot tub-sitting loosening our stiff joints, and planning the day. I miss the 3 day weekends in the mountains with Himself, watching the snow fall and wandering through antique stores. I miss the weekends with Capt, on the beaches of Florida, or diving in a clear spring. I miss planning meals with them. watching a movie, all those minutia of middle-aged life with someone else. 

I know I have to move on ahead. I get that. And I will. I'll be OK, life goes on, and New Normals are forged. I've got God right there with me, so I'm not alone. I'll be ok. 

Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” Joshua 1:9

Slowly, one day at a time

 I love Capt, and Himself. Is it possible to have enough room in your heart for two men? Sure it is! Do you love one child less because you have another one? No! Your heart grows to accommodate them all.  That's not to say I'm poly-whatever. No. One at a time, thankyouverymuch. They both filled particular places, for a specific amount of time. 

After Himself's passing on, I was pretty sure I'd want to get married again. I loved being a wife. It was an enormous part of my identity. Having a companion, someone to talk to, do things with, bounce ideas off of, all that....it's important to me. 

However (tell me you didn't see that coming), I'm not so sure This Time, that I want to do it again. Capt was an enormous presence. I love and miss him terribly. I'm not so sure I want to do this again. Why is that? you might ask.

I'll tell you why. I'm not sure I can. I can't lose someone again. Not like this. Not the person who means so very much to me. I just...can't. Even if it means being on my own in this house and not having someone with whom I can do all the things. It's too complicated, too painful, too...everything. 

Even though I know, from experience, that I won't collapse and crumble and be helpless, I also know that...good Lord, this is hard. Right now, I simply cannot imagine risking putting myself through this sort of thing yet AGAIN.

I might change my mind. I know that. I'm prone to it. But right now, it's a hard NO. I can be useful in lots of other ways. I can find my identity in my relationship with God. I'm working hard on that bit right now. I can work on my friendship skills. Maybe I can even (somehow) figure out how to use my experiences (plural! Ugh!) as a widow to benefit other women going through similar situations. 

As I told my PT, Brooke, yesterday, This Time (UGH!) I'm regaining my equilibrium a lot quicker than Last Time. I'm breathing and eating already. It's been a month and 9 days since Capt moved on. It took 6 months+ to do that after Himself passed. 

Ok so that thought led my ADD brain (SQUIRREL!) to this thought...how many euphemisms does our American lexicon have for the act of Dying. Passed on, passed away, Heavenly Reward, all ways to avoid that kind of ugly word: Death.

Saying Death kind of implies an absolute finality. Gone. Poof. No more. I don't believe that's what happens. Lots of anecdotal evidence to the contrary. There's a couple of places they go. One we don't like to think about because it's ugly and no one wants someone they love to end up there. The other is kind of the Ultimate Destination. Better than any place a cruise ship could take you. So we say Passed On, because they've Passed On to there. Some people will say Transitioned. Or Left This Earth. That's kind of how I like to think about it. They've left behind the flawed body and uncomfortable ways of this world, and transitioned into their heavenly and perfected lives. It's certainly a more comfortable way of thinking about it, in my opinion. Our earthly body is this imperfect container we use for a while, because God saw fit to stick us in it while we figure things out . 

That's not where I intended to go when I started this post. That's why I used a different font...because it's an aside. 

Anyway. Brooke and I talked about that for a bit, about finding someone Else. I'll know when or if it's Time. About 2-1/2 years after Himself passed away, passed on, met his Heavenly Reward, *ahem*....died...I felt like I was ready to find someone to be my new person. I also knew that I'd eventually want a new person, but wasn't going to push it right away. I needed to start breathing and functioning first.  Well, I'm breathing and beginning to function now, but the idea of a new person in my life is unpleasant and causes my brain to say "are you KIDDING me? NO!" So I am choosing to operate with the idea that it will be just me, in the future. 

Kind of like...sometimes when you buy a house, you think about resale value (stick with me here...there's a point), and you decorate it in ways that are easy to fix up and make universally appealing. And sometimes, you get a house knowing that you're probably going to be here for good, so you fix it up in the ways that work for YOU, even if you know it's not anyone else's cup of decorative tea.  I'm gong to fix my (literal and figurative) house up the way I want it. Quirks and all. I'm going to use those ornate cast iron shelf brackets even though someone else might think WHY. The cabinet is going to get a lick of paint in the color I want, and by golly the lace is getting the boot. I'm going to wear what I like, even if it's a vintage 1970's Pendleton vest and a pair of Lee jeans and some hiking boots. 

After Himself, and now Capt, passed on, met his Heavenly Reward, *ahem*...died, I continued and continue to live in ways that he, and he wanted, approved of, expressed opinions on. After all, those are the clothes in the closet and the foods on the pantry shelf. But you know what? I HATE MIXED VEGETABLES. You know the kind...the frozen ones in the bags and all the veggies taste exactly the same. YUCK. AND....I HATE CHICKEN BREASTS. They're bland and dry and gross. That's the only kind of chicken both Himself and Capt wanted. I'd fix breasts for them and thighs for me. There's a pile of chicken breasts in the freezer. I'll use them up in soups. 

Gross. Ew.

All that said, part of really loving someone is being willing to compromise.  They made plenty of compromises for me. All over the place, they did. I know that, and I'm grateful. It's the nature of a good relationship, a balance. 

Now I don't really have to do that much. Not in the minutia of a household life. I don't have to keep chicken breasts and mixed vegetables. I can use ornate cast iron, wear hiking boots and flannel shirts without commentary, and take the long way to get anywhere. I can park badly, run out of oranges, and leave a box of books in the middle of the living room floor. If I smack my toe against it, it's my fault.  It's taking me some time to realize that, to be able to watch Dr. Pimple Popper without listening to the little voice that says "be ready to change the channel, you know how gross he thinks that is." (EW, Peggy...WHY do you watch that?? Because I like to see people's lives transformed. They go from shame and embarrassment to confidence and relief)

All that said, those are all things I'd gladly shelve if it meant he were back on the couch, planning our next trip to the Keys, or discussing what kind of bookcase to put where, or requesting a chicken pot pie made with breasts and mixed vegetables.

Its funny how don't cuts of chicken mean much, in the grand scheme of it all.

Anxiety and decision-making

I said it there in the title. I have anxiety. Sometimes (frequently) I want help making decisions. I'm so afraid (there, I said that as well) of making the wrong decision on my own that I wind up making no decision at all, or deciding No, I won't do that. No, I won't buy that dress, make that trip, do that thing. Even when there's nothing wrong with getting a dress, making a trip, or doing the thing. 

What if I'm wrong? What if the trip is a disaster? What if I do the wrong thing? It is so much easier with shared responsibility. If WE made a trip and it wasn't as fun as we thought, I didn't feel particularly guilty, I could say "Oh well, it was just a trip and we'll be ok". 

This is a character quality, this anxiety of messing up, the timidity of taking a step, that I despise in myself. I am trying, really trying, to do the things. To allow myself a new dress, a trip, an evening out with friends, the dog on the couch, the carbs, the plans for bookshelves, all harmless fun that will have no ill effect on anyone but are things I wouldn't do without running past someone else for an opinion.  

 For the Spirit God gave us does not make us timid, but gives us power, love and self-discipline. 2 Timothy 1:7

What a strange situation to be in. 36 years of running everything past someone else, and now I've got to make decisions sans input. I suppose it ought to be liberating, to some degree, but at the moment it is only anxiety-inducing. I know I'm not dumb. I can do this, and (hopefully) make fairly wise and informed decisions. But there's a small annoying creature on my left shoulder, whispering "what if you get it wrong? You might get it wrong." into my ear. 

I'm reading a book right now about the Holy Spirit, and how it's always there as a guide, always present, always working. My job is to be receptive to the guidance. I'm trying! I excel at ignoring the Holy Spirit pokes. I'm working on fixing that. Again, though, that left-shoulder irritation sows seeds of doubt. So there's a struggle that happens and my inner self decides the best thing to do amidst the struggle is...nothing. Bide my time. Read a book, do some laundry, and wait. I'm not sure that's the proper way to handle it, but at least I'm not doing the WRONG thing? Right? I don't know!

In the same way the Spirit also helps our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we should, but the Spirit Himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words; and He who searches the hearts knows what the mind of the Spirit is, because He intercedes for the saints according to the will of God. Romans 8:26-27

I think sometimes as a middle-aged adult, I'm supposed to have my act together. To have it all figured out and the path is clear. That's baloney. My path is clear as the Ogeechee River after a week of rain. Right now I'm filling my time with the small things, asking God constantly for an abundantly clear open door, perhaps even with a shove through it. My days start with "thank You for seeing me through the night" followed by "HELP!" 

My physical therapist (hand surgery) is also a recent widow. Today we talked a while about dealing with that anxiety. It was nice to have someone who GOT IT. "YES!" she said. "I have so much trouble making sure I'm making the right decision!" It was affirming, in a way, to know that my anxiety isn't unusual. Sharing the burden makes it easier. It just does.