God Speaks

I have a lot to do. Really. There is a long, long list of things that need to be done, but I have this disease. I guess you could call it a disease, I tell myself it's a disease. It might be more accurately described as an idiosyncrasy.

I'm not a finisher.

Years ago in my learning Renaissance I read some articles on handwriting analysis and found that you can tell a lot about a person by their signature. Mine gave a clear cut synopsis of me in that I write every letter carefully until the end where I leave a long tail and no letter. I don't finish the letters. It takes a conscious effort to shape the "a" and the "n". I was not surprised to learn this about myself, but alarmed to realize how telling this small thing was about me.

I can do twelve loads of laundry in a day. I can because I generally home in a single day long enough to get it done, and yes, if I do a bedroom overhaul, I can easily come up with that much all at once. The problem isn't the starting because I am a pretty good starter, it's that last load that sits in the dryer waiting to be retrieved and folded that trips me up every time. And if it's not that, I'll get it folded and sit there on the couch with the stacks of clean clothes all around me glued to my seat for who knows how long. It takes just as much effort to get a move on as it does to shape those last few letters. It can be done, I just have to work at it. Isn't that weird?

Lately I've been in kind of a funk that makes it difficult to even start anything so to fill my days I find myself piddling away the hours on things that don't matter. It's a drudgery and I know I would feel better if I was getting the work on that long, long list done, but it's- it's- it's easy just to dodge it, and that is what I do.

However, thanks to my recent rediscovery of the joy of reading I save a precious snippet at the end of my day to read. Guess what I read last night? Something profound but so simple. It's in chapter 23 of The Last Lecture by Randy Pausch. If you haven't read this book I highly recommend it, especially if you need a reason not to take your real life for granted.

To give you a tiny bit of background, the author is a University lecturer, an analytical thinker in the last months of his life sharing every last piece of wisdom valuable enough to make the cut. These words very well could change the course of my life.

Time must be explicitly managed, like money.
You can always change your plan, but only if you have a plan.
Ask yourself, Are you spending your time on the right things?
Develop a good filing system.
Rethink the telephone.

So good, so simple, so brilliant. Maybe it's not a "right on" for you because you kind of have your game together. But, I find myself bemoaning things about my life that could easily be corrected if only I had it in the plan, and if I had managed my time more deliberately. This is something I've been rolling around in the recesses of my mind for weeks and weeks, and only now when these points come to the forefront do I realize that inspiration requires action to produce a good return. Thankfully, God knows my life and how it rolls; He always manages to send things my way right on time.

Mega-pack

I think about the same things so often that I forget whether I've voiced them here or not, which I'm sure you've noticed and thank you for your generous hush-hush about my dementia-like redundancy. One of those things is that people think that because I have a lot of kids I: a. am really organized, b. am really patient, and c. have easy childbirth. It's funny, even though I walk in these shoes every day, I automatically assume the same things about other mothers of large families. For the record, I am none of these things, no matter how much I aspire to be. I have not yet attained, any of these things, nor do I see the attainment in the near future. In fact, I would dare say I'm rather scattered. Dale may beg to differ.

I always did have a big family mentality though. I remember counting the years when I got pregnant with Tre and lauding the speedy growth of our family at our young ages. I thought I was conquering a huge mountain by raising four kids so close together. (little did I know...) It was a whirlwind for a long time; so much so that I don't remember much of it. I remember being caught in my pajamas in the midst of a filthy house a few times, and I remember crossing the bridge to maintaining a clean house and cooking regular meals. It makes me sad sometimes when I think about it, because even though it felt like an eternity, the years flew by and now I have all these independent little people at every turn.

Let me just pause here to say, it freaks me out when I find myself saying the things "grown ups always say" from my memories as a child, things like, "You're getting so big!" of "Make sure you wash behind your ears!" And here, the days feel like years and the years pass like days. Life is such a wonder to me. It's just never what you expect, and then you turn out to be just like every grown up you ever knew!

Anyway, back to having a big family. I love it. I used to dream about the days when all the neighborhood kids would knock on my door. Today I was scrubbing a pot in the kitchen and there was a knock at the door. I waited for a long time to answer because I knew it was for someone else. When I finally dried my hands and opened the door, a tiny little teacup of a gal was standing there all by herself. With all the confidence she could muster she said, "Are the redheads there?" That's what we are to every kid in the neighborhood, and to some the "redheaded Brady bunch".

Other things about having a big family drive me crazy. Right now the thing that just about puts me over the edge is that every time I open this one cabinet, something falls out. It's not that it hasn't been cleaned out, because it was just days ago that I took everything out to reorganize it in hopes of eliminating the problem. But the real issue is that my kids can reach stuff now, and if they can't, they climb to reach whatever they want. Once they've reached said item, they use it and stick it back in, not where they found it, not where there's a convenient spot for it, but wherever it lands after the cabinet door is open. YEEEEOOOWWWW! It just makes me crazy. But like so many other things in my life, what is the point of blowing a gasket? I've already done that four times today over other things that just don't matter. I might as well just replace the item to where it belongs and let it go. LET IT GO. Whew. I guess I just needed to get that off my chest.

Hello, 2009. I'm so glad you're here!

For Christmas this year, my sister-in-law bought books for everyone in my family, which I loved. When I unwrapped mine, I had no idea what kind of a treasure and tool she had inadvertently put into my hands; I haven't read a book in months. As a matter of fact, I read two books last year, that I recall: Two Princesses of Bamarre, a book on the kids' summer reading list, and a novel that was recommended my mom of which I can't remember the name. . I read it fast to ensure that I'd get it done and now my recollection of the details is minimal.

With reality glaring all around me, I placed the gift in it's perfectly untouched dustjacket on the shelf with a thousand other books that I would love to read. I seriously doubted that I'd be able to read it. Everytime it caught my eye as I passed by, I felt a pull to read the first page. As soon as I had a quiet moment, (which lends to my dilemma in that I cannot read with noise) I snatched up the fresh off the presses book, and began to read. Within three pages, tears were filling my eyes and I had to set it aside to avoid a barrage of attention and questions that comes with public crying in my house. That night I continued where I left off and found myself totally engulfed in the journey of Kate Gosselin, mother of eight children in three years. I was not surprised to discover her true love for the Lord, but I was surprised and completely encouraged by the strength she found in clinging to the Word of God throughout her story. Her honesty is riveting, while her writing is a carefully woven tapestry of passion and intellect. Needless to say I was reading every night before bed, even heading off to my little haven earlier than I've been to bed in years. The story inspired me, the character of the author inspired me, the very words on the page inspired me. It was a great way to start the new year.

I love every new year because I'm kind of a "start again on Monday" sort of person. As in, every week, I tally my shortcomings in various areas, same ones I've struggled with all of my adult life, and use them to fuel my determination to start over next week which means my New Years Resolutions are more like "New Week Resolutions". It just seems to suit me better because frankly, some things never change. As a matter of fact, I am working hard to train myself in the "start again tomorrow" dojo. It is a biblical principal, after all. I tend to find myself less neurotic and more capable of carrying the load for today all by itself rather than toting the week or month's heaviness. The latter can become rather crushing and often left me feeling incompetent and condemned as I dropped pieces along the way. Thank You, God, for continuing to bring this principal to light in the day to day conundrum.

Multiple Blessings is the name of the book. Buy it, borrow it, check it out. It's not full of deep, insightful wonder that will draw you into the great thinking abyss. It's just one family's story of struggle and doubt and faith and survival Read it. You'll love it.