Sweet Hour of Prayer

I pray for him daily.  Sometimes more than once a day.  Even several times a day.  It's the most effective means of keeping hope afloat for me as a mother.

Dear Lord Jesus,

I miss my son.  I can't see him.  Hear him.  Touch him.  Laugh with him.  

Have a meal with him.

I miss him.  

And I worry about his happiness, 

his well being, his comfort, and his emotional well being. 

Please breathe Your Spirit onto him today.  

May You allow opportunities for joy 

and understanding 

and maturity 

and confidence 

and direction 

and love 

-- YES, LOVE, MOSTLY LOVE -- 

to enter his path today.

Help me as a mother to actively BELIEVE 

that You are doing a good work in Zach and through Zach
right where he is.  
Help me to embrace Your promise 

that You are building a good thing in his life, 
a masterpiece of Your own making,
that one day we'll all be able to see.

In Jesus' Name, Amen. 

I love you, son.

Ask Someone Who Has Been There Before

“If you cannot see where you are going,

ask someone who has been there before.”

~ J Loren Norris

As I've mentioned a time or two before, I'm not a big Facebook fan.  I don't like being tethered to technology that can track my every move.  Besides, it's a time hog.  And it's just as well.  I can't log on at work -- we're blocked.  And my phone is too small (or my eyesight is to poor?) to comfortably read posts (even if I was really dying to) without squinting and straining, and it drives me crazy waiting for it to refresh itself -- please don't waste more of my time!

I usually will log on to Facebook first thing in the morning to 1) send birthday wishes to friends; and 2) scan to see if I've missed anything worthy of a Like or a Comment.  But now and then I'm compelled to access Facebook on my cell phone for one reason or another, and a couple of days ago when I did so, I saw that I had a message waiting.  But because I refused to download to my phone the required Facebook App for messaging (far too intrusive, thank you very much, but no thanks), I was not able to access the message until I could get to my laptop and log on.

The message was from a colleague at our local business college asking if I'd be willing to mentor a student in the courtroom.  She had successfully made it to the point where hours for internship were now required, and she was would need 40 hours of courtroom time.

I accepted happily.  I contacted this young woman, first by text, and then by a phone call.  We've arranged to have her come to our courtroom first thing Monday morning.  We're starting a civil trial next week and it will be great courtroom experience for her.  We'll get her set up with her machine just behind the bar in the front row of the gallery closest to the jury box.  I'll show her around our offices and introduce her to everyone, try to make her feel as welcome and as comfortable as possible.  I've suggested that she start a list of questions that we can discuss over the lunch break.

I remember 30+ years ago -- Lord, has it really been that long? -- when I had to do my courtroom internship, and how intimidated and frightened I was.  Wide-eyed and afraid to breathe, I sat quietly in awe as I watched the official reporter taking down the record of a criminal trial in progress, trying my best to keep up on my own steno machine as I sat in the gallery.  Worried that people were staring at me.  Wondering what they were thinking.  Questioning whether I'd ever be able to pull this whole court reporter thing off.   Wondering if I'd made a huge mistake quitting my secretarial job with the Board of Education Administrative Offices to go to school to become a court reporter.  Can I do this?

And I did.

And she will.

And it will be privilege to help her realize her dream.  

“Tell me and I forget, teach me and I may remember,

involve me and I learn.” 

~ Benjamin Franklin 

The Mystic Chords of Memory

My nephew is currently serving in the Navy.

I miss him.

And I appreciate him especially today.

I've been overwhelmed with relentless swells of gratitude

these last several days.  

It is that season that we cannot help

but raise our hands and hearts

to our Father

in a chorus of infinite gratitude...

THE MYSTIC CHORDS OF MEMORY,

STRETCHING FROM

EVERY BATTLEFIELD

AND PATRIOT GRAVE

TO EVERY LIVING HEART…

SHOULD SWELL INTO A

MIGHTY CHORUS

OF REMEMBRANCE.

GRATITUDE AND REDEDICATION

ON THIS SOLEMN OCCASION.

~ Abraham Lincoln

Look Again

This time change thing is hard on an oldER woman.  The older I get, the more I need to stick to routine to be at my best.  Throw me a wrench and I get scatter-brained and fall to pieces.  This is not a good thing.  I'll only admit to it in a blog. Ask me in person and I'll vehemently deny it.  I like pretending that I totally have my act together.

It's this time change, I say.  This too shall pass.

I kicked my own ass on Saturday at the gym.  Totally overtrained.  I knew I was overdoing it when I did it.  I knew it.  I kept saying:  You're gonna be sorry, honey child.  But the warrior in me thumbed my nose at her and kept going.   That night?  I could hardly walk.  Yet in that sick sort of way, the sadistic side of me was secretly gloating, proud of the discipline and work ethic.

So I took the day off on Sunday.  Rest day.

On Monday I ran in our subdivision in lieu of the gym.  Cardio day.

Tuesday I had to have my blood drawn first thing, so no morning workouts -- and no evening workout either, busting my butt all day moving all the furniture out of the living room, painting it, then moving it all back.  And I decided I could manage to single-handedly move a desk out of our bedroom, down the hall, down the stairs, and into the living room -- which I'm sort of making into an office.  All by myself?  Really, T?  The desk was MUCH heavier than I realized. And Tuesday night?  Wasted!

Wednesday I managed to do 22 mins of cardio on my elliptical before work.  The thought of going to the gym did not interest me in the least.  Feeling weak and achy and exhausted, lifting anything remotely heavy was the last thing I wanted to do.  The plan was to do cardio at some point in the evening -- walk, run, or elliptical, 20 to 25 mins.  It never happened.  My bones seemed to ache with lethargy.  The couch was my new best friend.  Even my fingers seemed to ache. I was fighting through a fog.  WHAT is wrong with me, I implored to anyone who'd listen.  The sullen side of my conscience kept taunting, "You're just getting old...getting worthless!"  I fought with that bitch all night long.  And then I finally gave up and went to bed.  It's just this time change, I muttered to myself.

This morning I felt somewhat normal.  Not great, but somewhat better.  After my coffee and some coconut oil and whey protein, I got dressed for the gym and headed out.  Can I do this?  I was still doubtful.  Do I even want to?  No.  I really didn't want to go.  I felt way low on strength and energy.  Cardio I could probably handle.  But lifting?  I don't know.  We'll see.

And as is almost always the case, by the end of the hour, I was looking at my watch, wishing I could spend just a few more minutes lifting.  I had gotten my energy back, my fuse relit, my fire burning hot.  I'd gotten my go-get-it back. Yes indeed, I'M BACK!  I shouted inwardly.  Keep this lit, T.  

Even the sun seemed to shine a little brighter on the way to work this morning.   Maybe THAT's what I'm lacking.  Light and sunshine.  I should go sit on the levee by the river today, soak up the rays, and take advantage of our milder temps before the arctic air hits tomorrow.

It may take a while, getting used to the time change.  Dark at 5 pm has a way of pulling me down into my pity pit.  It's all the more reason why MAKING myself go to the gym is gonna keep me sane in the weeks and months ahead.  I just have to get myself there, whether I wanna go or not, when I'd rather be plopped on the couch under a blanket.  Just get there.

The rest will come naturally.

Dreams

It's always fascinated me, our dreams.  Why we dream what we dream.  What is its significance?  And why?  What in our hearts, minds, memories, experiences calls forth the fables and fantasies in slumber.  Our body is in repose, but our minds are far from dormant.

Dreams of anxiety, fears, fantasies, romance, non-sensical adventures, goals, friends, family, childhood, travel ... and on and on.

And what of recurring dreams?  What precipitates this besiege?

It is not of our own volition.  

No control can be exercised over this involuntary intrusion 

into the deepest parts of us, at our most vulnerable.  

Unconscious.  

We cannot resolve to stopping the insanity.  

It comes uninvited, unannounced, and when we least expect it.  

I've been dreaming of mom lately.  More than usual.  I miss her at times to the point of wanting to scream out in pain from the emptiness I'm left with in her absence.

I miss you, Mom.

Can you hear me?

Do you know how much I miss you?

I need to know that you are happy.

That all YOUR dreams have come true in heaven.

The dreams that never came true here on earth.

I wish I could have done more for you.

I've written a zillion love letters to you in my dreams.

Do you ever get them?  

Oh, That Fifteenth Amendment

First it's endless commercials.  And endless campaign signs.  And then it's endless voicemails filling up my answering machine.  (Delete, delete, delete!)  And now my answering machine at work!?!  (Delete, delete, delete!)  And then the brochures begin littering people's windshields, mailboxes and front door knobs.  I'd add radio stations to this list, but I don't listen to local radio, only Pandora -- because I'm a jazz addict ... and a Blank & Jones addict ... and I live in West Virginia, so no further explanation is needed.

I digress.

Last week they began lining up NO PARKING signs around one side of the courthouse, so trying to maneuver out into traffic after exiting our parking building was rather taking life into my own hands, considering the absentee voters parked as close to the corner of the curb as they could, making it nearly impossible to see when it was clear to pull into traffic.

And this morning.  The cones.  Those damn orange cones are EVERYWHERE, circling the perimeter of the federal and state courthouses, cop cruisers with their blue lights flashing parked among them.

Uh, right!  And so how am I supposed to get into my parking building, I ask?  Watch this ... as I hastily maneuver in and out of them -- you know, those tricks I learned off Turnfast.dom?  Yeah.  Those.

Move, people, I'm coming through.

Thank God Election Day will be over tomorrow!

It's All Good

I was talking with a friend the other night who told me that her son had cracked the screen of his new iPhone 6, and though he had insurance, there was still a $200 deductible to replace it.

That’s ridiculous.  Two Hundred Dollars for a deductible -- not for an automobile.  For a PHONE.

My youngest son has gone through a few (too many) phones as well.  After his last “incident” which destroyed his iPhone 4 -- which, by the way, was the SECOND iPhone 4 he’d had in the last six months, this one being a replacement to his first one to “hold him over” until the iPhone 6 was released -- I told him he’d had to make do with an antique replacement that we bought off one of Zach’s buddies for $30 until he saved enough money to pay for half the cost of his new iPhone 6.  He would be eligible for an upgrade in mid August, but there would still be a hefty cost associated with this new “amazing technological advancement.”

During the waiting, for whatever reason, he could not directly text his dad with this antique phone.  The messages would not deliver, but they’d deliver to my phone, no problems.   He normally would only text me when he needed something -- come get me, pick up X at the store, etc.   Suddenly, I began getting far more texts.  I became the middle man. 

(He's recently begun dabbling in the market.)

He has since gotten his new iPhone 6 and taken pleasure in showing me all its bells and whistles.  I look at my iPhone 4, which has served me rather well.  Yes, it’s smaller than the newer models.  Not as many features.  The camera isn’t as good.  It needs a new screen protector.  But there are far more important things on my gotta-have-it list than an upgrade to new and improved.  

• A knee-length camel wool coat
• A new coffee/cordovan leather purse
• New gym clothes

Besides, this kitchen has put a crimp in our budget for ... well, for quite a while. And those things on my wish list?  Well, they're going to have to wait.  Maybe next year?  My black winter coat will last another winter -- or two.  And my purse doesn't have a wow factor, but it's functional.  And my gym clothes are getting slightly ragged on the edges, but grunge is fashionable, right?

It's good.  It's all so very good.  I'm loving my kitchen.  It's definitely been worth some sacrifices.  A little less spending for a while, a leaner Christmas.  No new iPhones.  

And as I gaze out the window of my new kitchen and feast on the morning light showering my mums, I smile inside.  I think I'm ready for another cup of coffee.