Holy nudges

I don't know what the term is, and I have a feeling "holy nudges" isn't the exact term I'm looking for, but it's got to be close.

See, every once in a while I think, "you know, I should really email/text/call/visit/send a card to [fill in the blank]."  And...  I don't always do it.  Then next thing I know, they're reaching out to me, telling me they've been thinking about me.

We probably all do this (at least, I hope so, otherwise now I'll just feel awkwardly like I'm the only heathen amongst us).  I call them holy nudges rather than "passing thoughts" because it seems like time and time again, the Lord gives me the chance to be the one to reach out first, and then BAM, I've been putting it off and the other person reaches out to me.  It's like the Lord is letting me know that we're thinking about each other and He'd be happy for me if I could be the one to reach out first if only I were paying attention.

That happens a lot.  And I'm not saying every "passing thought" is a holy nudge, but I will say that when my city took out an annoying traffic light near my house I thought I really should send a little thank-you note to the city because it was really so nice that it was gone and then I got lazy and didn't send a card and then they put the light back in because they thought nobody cared (also, they thought it was dangerous).  Now, I'm not saying they would have kept it just because I wrote them a note, but I'm saying it would have been nice if I'd written them a note, and I'm pretty sure the Lord wanted me to see tangibly that when something or someone comes to mind it wouldn't be that hard to reach out, and perhaps we would even end up making a difference.

But in this increasingly lazy-fied world, it's hard.  I mean, I don't even know where I would have sent the note to the city.  And sometimes I want to send a card but it's like, "ugh, who knows how to find their address, anyhow" and then I just justify it by saying it's too hard.  Or (my personal favorite) I decide there's no way to get in touch with them except via facebook and facebook is so impersonal anyhow that there's no way I should feel obligated to send a facebook message.  And, of course, what that means is I can count on getting a facebook message from them and yes, it's always personal and meaningful and yes I feel convicted.

Oh, guys.  I have so far to go.

Thanksgiving 2014

I love Thanksgiving.  No, for real, I do.  It's cozy, and thankful, and wonderful, and I just love it.

Not the food.  But I've said that before.   (I just searched by blog under the "Thanksgiving" label and came up with like 10 posts about Thanksgiving.  I'm not kidding, I love everything about Thanksgiving but the food!)

Also something I've said before is that for the last several years I've had my Sunday School girls write thanksgiving lists in class.  We read verses about being thankful, talk about why we should be thankful, and to Whom we should be thankful, and then try to think of things for which to be thankful (this year I remembered to be thankful for Chipotle.  Mmm).  Usually gets some pretty good results (one of our most frequent Sunday School-and-Gospel speakers is famous for reminding us to be thankful for everything, including chairs, so almost all the girls remembered this and marked that they were thankful for chairs), but this year I heard one I hadn't heard before.

While reading around an item or two from our list one girl shared that she was thankful for my eyebrows.

"Uh, my eyebrows?  Specifically me?  Or you're thankful for your eyebrows?"

"Oh no, Miss Joanne, not my eyebrows.  Yours.  I think they look okay with your face."

"Mmmmmmmnmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmk."

And that, my friends, is the story of how I got a complex about my eyebrows and I'm not even sure why, because, comfortingly enough, they are "okay."

(Just because I couldn't resist, I searched the KJV for references to eyebrows.  There's only one direct reference, and in this reference the guy is straight-up shaving his off.  Maybe eyebrows are meant to be expendable?)

Things that are real

Last night during gospel I was sitting in the midst of a horde of children (for real.  There were anywhere from 27-30 out--we never could get an accurate count) and they were dutifully taking notes (you remember something, you get a cookie or two--they have great incentive to take notes for the sake of remembering!) and Mr. Speaker mentioned that "the judgement of God is real."  He didn't say much about it, honestly, but the kids like sound bites that are easy to write down, so I noticed several kids dutifully writing down that "the judgement of God is real."

I literally almost never get choked up about things (for instance, weddings.  Never have I ever cried at one of those) but looking at the few kids sitting next to me, putting pen to paper and writing, "the judgement of God is real," make me emotional.  Because while I am confident that some of those children are truly the Lord's, I am equally confident that some of them are not.  For whatever reason, some keep putting it off.  And I think my heart broke a little bit last night, just thinking of the solemnity of it all.  Because even if they don't understand the severity of it, the truth of it remains, "the judgement of God is real."

This is why we spend and be spent for the Lord's work.  Because last night 27-30 children got to sit under the sound of the Word and they know, for sure, because they've heard, time and time again, about the love of God.  And they know, for sure, because they've heard it time and time again, that accepting the love of God is the best possible way to avoid the judgement of God.

Take with you words

The other day at dinner/Bible reading (yes, supper still lasts for like four hours at my house.  Okay, well, that's a slight exaggeration--it's more like two hours) we were reading Hosea 14.  We got as far as verse 2 before we digressed wildly (as we are often wont to do).

"'Take with you words, and return to the Lord'--hey, Joanne, this should be your verse!"

That was my dad, who in the split second it took to read the first eight words of the verse decided that when I write a memoir (because, you know, why not), I should call it "Take With You Words."

Honestly, it sounds like a good idea to me.  Not that I'm planning on writing a memoir any time soon (or ever), but if I do, at least I have a title.

It's a start.

(PS, not to toot my own horn or anything but I'll be honest--I've read memoirs before and thought that even within my limited 25 years of life I've probably acquired enough stories to write a more interesting memoir than some of them that are out there.  And for whatever stories I don't have, I could totally just write random things I thought about.  I could do this thing, people.  I'm not going to, but I could!)

(PPS, NO PICTURE TODAY.  I'm such a little rebel.)

Random facts

Have you ever tried to think of a random fact about yourself?  I mean, really, pause for a second and think, "if someone asked me for a random fact about me or my life what would I say?"

It's hard, actually.

For work right now we're doing a contest where people are offered a random fact about each one of us employees and they have to sort out whose fact belongs to which employee.  It's been funny to see people try to figure it out.  But as funny as it is, it doesn't change the fact that thinking of a fact on cue is really, really hard!

It also doesn't change the fact that everyone is guessing the wrong fact for me.  Amidst things like, "dated the Red Power Ranger," and "taught school in the Czech Republic," and "received a paycheck from Donald Trump," is one that goes, "was class Valedictorian," and another, "I once met Apolo Ohno."

Guys, 1) I was homeschooled, 2) I'm not that smart.  But I read books constantly, which someone makes people assume that I was Valedictorian.  Now me and the person who was ACTUALLY the Valedictorian both have a complex.  Me, because it's reinforcing that I wasn't smart enough, and her because literally NOBODY has guessed her as the valedictorian.

Options for guessing

And yes, I met Apolo Ohno.  At a Borders & Books.  When Borders was still a store, which dates the event quite significantly.

But anyhow, what random fact can you think about yourself?

(By the way, once I reached my fact I ended up using I thought of a ton of strange things I could have said.  It just took me forever to start thinking of things!  Also, it's a great dinner time conversation starter!)

Sometimes I am too easily amused

Spotted at my local Pet Store

I love spying funny signs.  Even if they're not meant to be funny, I will see it, and I will laugh.

See, I never just see thing and move on.  I see signs, like these, at the local pet store (I obviously wasn't inside the pet store, I don't even like pets) and the first thing that pops into my head is, "Haha, Darwin started a pet store now?"

Because, obviously, natural selection.  If I were a pet store (which I never will be) I would never put this sign up.  Because obviously I would expect people to look at it and think, "Darwin?  Darwin, are you in there?"

Oh, just more sad things

You know, while I was away from blogging I kept on thinking of things I wanted to write about.  I know people probably don't believe me on account of my occasionally loud external personality, but I do kind of  a lot of thinking.  (I may or may not be facetious right now.  I leave it up to you to decide what I would even have to be facetious about in this paragraph.  I make nothing easy on anyone.  I also might just be in a weird mood.  I might have finally redeemed my Starbucks birthday reward and gotten two extra shots of espresso in my caramel macchiato, simply because it was my birthday drink and it was freeeeee also I've always wondered what would happen to me with two extra shots of espresso and I think now I know.)

I never posted any of my musings because, well, this was a terrible year and I hated to admit to even myself that there were moments in which I was musing on other things.  But life goes thusly.

I went ahead and deleted all of those drafts this morning.  I just wasn't feeling it, also, venti Starbucks drinks sometimes, you know, make me delete things willy-nilly.  Anyhow, one of the posts I'd deleted had been some non-sensical musings (much like these?) about rings.

Rings?  rings.

You see, I remember years ago, seeing a widower, just a few months after his wife had died, with a bare left hand (had to Google which hand the wedding band goes on.  Left or right is not my best skill).  I had to wonder, looking stalkerishly at that empty ring finger, what sort of process it was to take that ring off.  What was the decision process, how did he decide it was time?  What sort of emotional toll does it even take on a human, to take off the symbol of commitment, because the person to whom you were committed has died?

It was kind of awful, actually, that day I noticed his bare hand.

But the reason I was thinking about it this summer, after all these years, was because I noticed another widower, whose wife has been with the Lord for the better part of a decade, whose ring is still firmly in place on his ring finger.  And I wondered: what does it feel like, to see that band, and know that its whole reason for existence is no more.  What sort of daily emotional roller coaster might that band represent?

I don't know why I didn't feel free to write about this over the summer, because it pretty much 100% matches my mood.  Which is to say: life is hard.  People make decisions all the time, people have to face those sorrows in the darkest cracks of their heart, and decide what steps to take, and what actions are right for them.  Because no matter what the choice is in this particular scenario (which is to say, when it's an appropriate time to remove a wedding band or not) it doesn't change the fact of it all, that the finality comes not with the removing the wedding ring or not, it comes with the painful separation that is death.  And I can tell you, I don't even have as much to be sad about as half the people I know, but my bruised-enough-as-it-is heart positively shudders at the thought of ever being in that position.  May the Lord grant immeasurable comfort to those who, for whatever reason, have to face these questions on a personal level.

I've been hibernating

A sister who supposedly doesn't read this recently gently reminded me that I could possibly write again.  Because, you know, that's what you're supposed to do when you've committed to a blog.  (Though I recently read my first-ever blog post and saw that I had wisely and honestly been pretty pessimistic about my ability to keep on blogging regularly.  So, if anyone read my blog in 2009, you'd know not to expect too much.)

I could.  And I am.  Right now, in fact.  But I don't want to.

Guys, in the spirit of full disclosure, 2014 has been an awful year.  A friend lost twins.  My sister lost her young son.  I lost a friend my age.  Another friend just lost her son.

There have been good things.  Bright things.  But every time I've even thought about writing here in my blog, I keep logging in and looking at that last post I wrote and thinking, "Ugh, I'm not ready to move beyond that."  I didn't know, obviously, when I wrote that, how much I'd come to appreciate the story of that woman who lost her son, how much I'd come to rely on those around me when all I did was cry for a month when my nephew died.  How exhausted and upset and mad I felt when yet another friend lost her child.  So every time I looked at the post, it bespoke even more grief.

Because it's all good and well, to grieve in unity.  But I HATE that we have to grieve in unity.  Or at all.  I hate that by loving so many people, ones heart gets broken afresh with every good-bye.  I think I've cried more this year than I ever have before--even counting when my own brother died.  I even almost cried at a wedding this year, and I have never cried at a wedding in my life before, so that is saying something.

And this is why I haven't written.  Because I can't think of light and fluffy things to say.  Because even though I still have random interactions with people around me, and I meet strangers who become friends, and I think vaguely interesting thoughts, they get pushed around and reorganized in my brain and at the top, always, remains the dull "ugh I can't even" and then, you know, I just don't write for ages and ages.

I'm not trying to make it sound like I live a wholly depressed life.  I have a new sister-in-law, a new nephew, and another new niecew on the way.  There have been weddings, and engagements, and babies, and changes, and happy things, and all the rest other wonderful things there are supposed to be in life.  But someone (a weird dude.  The strangest people talk to me sometimes) recently was like, "So awesome that you're so young and full of optimism!" and I straight-up told him that I thought it was rude that he assumed young people had to be full of optimism.  I look forward to the future.  I expect wonderful things in the future.  But I think it's stupid that older people think it's okay for themselves to not have optimism, because us younger generation has got it covered.

Maybe I was PMSing that day.  I just looked up the official definition of optimism, and it is in fact what I have, in spite of everything.

op·ti·mism

ˈäptəˌmizəm/

noun

1. 1.

   hopefulness and confidence about the future or the successful outcome of something.

   "the talks had been amicable, and there were grounds for optimism"

   synonyms:

   hopefulness, hope, confidence, buoyancy, cheer, cheerfulness, good cheer, sanguineness, positiveness, positive attitude "I wish I had your optimism"

Whatever.  We're going with optimistic though without a spirit of optimism.

So.  Here I am, for whatever it's worth.  Thankful for all that is past, and trusting the Lord for all that's to come.

The unity of grief

Most people have gone through tough times in their lives.  Be it deaths, broken relationships, illnesses, mistreatment, betrayal...  I feel like grief leaves wounds that never completely close.  Oh, they fade, and through the grace of God any heart can heal, but memories will always linger.

But the up side of grief, if I may speak simplistically, is that because it is so universal, it can be shared.  No two stories are ever going to be the same.  No two griefs will ever perfectly match.  But two wounded hearts can share the pain and the peace that their stories have brought.  (I remember the first time one of my friends lost a brother after I'd lost mine, thinking, "Finally, I can offer words of encouragement so they know they're not alone."  But afterwards I realized--it was just as uncomfortable and sad and distinctly Not As Comforting As I'd Wished as the other times.  Even if it feels like you have all things in common, another soul's grief can never be fully entered into.  So words of hope and encouragement are always beneficial, not just from people who know.)

Remember after 9/11?  People would gather to share their stories, their hurts, and to begin the healing by acknowledging that their pain was not theirs alone.  In its individuality, it was universal.  School shootings and natural disasters are like that too, but often when people endure sorrow on an individual scale, they don't share like they might if others were going through the same experience.  Often we keep individual griefs closed in, as if our pain might inconvenience others.

This is a stock photo because obviously I don't actually take pictures when people are grieving.

I've been thinking about that recently.  A woman I know recently had this to say about her journey through grief.  (I would never just link someone's random post, but she wrote this to be shared, and to be a thread of comfort to others.  Her journey from grief means giving up rights to her story, as it were, if it means someone could be helped by it.)  I would recommend reading it, by the way.  I'm not going to lie--I cried when I read it.  I've never lost a child, but I'm a human, so I reacted to her suffering.
And that's the way it should be.  At work, this sparked a lot of discussions.  We all shared a little about the sad times we've gone through in our lives.  I've worked there for more than a year and this was the first time I'd mentioned my brother to some of them.  Everyone had a little piece of grief to offer, and in every offering, the burden was made just a little lighter to bear.

Of course...  I really haven't gone through as many tough times as some.  All things considered, I've gotten off pretty easy on the grief scale.  But that's my point--people can share grief, even if it's not the same.  Even if I haven't suffered as much as you, it doesn't mean that we can't be a comfort to each other.  And, most particularly if we're both believers, we have so much comfort to give each other.  I remember being much impacted by a story of grief told by a man I knew, who, instead of focusing on his own grief, reminded me that none of our suffering compares to the Lord's suffering.  And it's not just that He suffered, He suffered for our sakes.  So we can stand together, and with certainty that overshadows grief, say that My Redeemer Lives.  It's not like that takes away the earthly pain we experience, but it causes our hearts to focus on the One Who can bear our pain in the toughest moments.  Because sharing pain and grief with others will never compare to the lightness that comes with sharing our burdens with the Lord.

I see monsters

As I've mentioned before, I work at a daycare.  A job, I love by the way, but I just had to go through my annual learning certificates (which help me keep the job I love, but I don't love quite as much as the job itself).  Turns out, the state requires that I know certain things so I'm fully equipped to work with children.

Will I remember anything I learned?  Almost certainly not.  Sometimes I get panicked when I realize that I've been issued a CRP certificate and I might one day be called upon to perform actual CPR on an actual person.  I feel like I would be one of those people who just like start hyperventilating and don't accomplish anything helpful.  Though one time I was in a situation where someone's foot got run over by a car, and I was the only person who kept her cool and got the situation sorted out.  So... maybe I'd be okay?

But that's not what this is about.

In addition to superfun times in my Communicable Diseases class (sarcasm alert) I took a class on child abuse prevention.  I add the "prevention" because I kept referring to it as just "child abuse," but those conversations got awkward.  "What was that thing you had last night?"  "Oh, I had this child abuse thing I had to do.  I mean, I didn't abuse children.  I learned how not to.  Not that I ever did before.  Just...  prevention.  It was a prevention class."

Anyhow, it was sort of terrifying.  As we all know, I work with kids all the time.  During the week at my daycare, I work with fabulous children who have (from what I know, anyhow) solid homes and loving and nurturing families.  On the weekends with Sunday School I work with fabulous children who have slightly less happy homes.  I mean, they might be happy homes, but they're not stable.  They might be loving, but I can't help but think that they're probably not very nurturing.  It's a sad fact, but a lot of broken families are exactly that; broken.  I spend time with kids who have these unavoidably warped views on life, who mistrust men, authority figures, and basically everyone.  Kids who curse like sailors and stay up till four in the morning watching questionable movies because nobody ever tells them they shouldn't.  That's life for them.

Something else they have to deal with?  Abuse.  I won't go into the specifics, mostly because I take the mantle of trust that they've placed in me very seriously, but I know kids who have been abused.  In various ways and by different people.  But it's horrifying.  No child should have to worry about things like that.  But these kids, my kids, have to worry about this.  Nobody is there to protect them--mommy works two jobs to support them and her boyfriend (who is on disability, you know, because of his back, because I've learned it's always the back).  These are kids who are raised by sheer force of will, guidance from TV, and the occasional grandmother.

It shouldn't be like that.  In my child abuse class they talked about the different indicators and whatever of child abuse.  Kids you should keep your eyes open for because either they are showing indications of being abused, or their home life is such that would lend itself to abuse.

It made me upset at the world in which we live.  That we have to learn to look for the monsters in the closet.  That I work at a daycare, with only kids who are younger than school-age, and we are mandated by the state to keep our eyes open for kids who might be abused at home.  I'm not saying there's ever a good age to start abusing kids, but the little defenseless ones are especially not okay to abuse.

This is rambley and doesn't make much sense, but I just...  have been feeling sad about the whole thing.  That I know kids who have told me about being abused, that I live in a world where I have to look for it, that I live in a world where there really are monsters in the closet.

And it makes me hope that in my small corner of the world, I can maybe be another influence in these lives.  I can't pretend to be the changing force in anybody's life (that is, in fact, the Lord's job, I'm thankful to say, and not a burden on my shoulders), but I know that I can be there for the kids I do have.  These are kids who move a lot (which always makes me muchly sorrowful), but while they're here, living in "my" neighborhood, my prayer is that the Lord can use me in their lives in whatever way I can.  If that means waking up early on a Saturday morning and going to a track meet, I'll be there.  If it means helping with homework, I'll be there.  Hugs, the occasional birthday party, and basketball (some of my favorite memories from last summer are actually being coached in basketball by some of my older Sunday School boys--because secretly I love basketball), those are things I can be there for.  Some kids will never share the deeper parts of their lives with me.  But for the kids who do entrust parts of their lives to me, I want to be able to cope, and to share with them the only One Who could ever handle the pain they've been given in their short lives.  It's only through God's grace that my life is so together.  I can't reverse their lives and somehow change it to make sense.  But I so greatly desire to help them see that through God, their lives can make sense.  We so often mourn, at my house, the lives we see with so much potential to be something, yet equally with so much potential to go off-course and become one more statistic.  Not like we expect the worst, per se, we're just pretty practical about it.

And it's sad.  Sad that we live in a world where we have to be practical about kids who might one day become statistics.  Kids who know monsters personally and try to leave the ugly parts of live behind when they get older, but end up making a mess of their lives, because they don't know how to do differently.

So that's the rant of the week.  Life makes me sad.  I mean, I know there's so much more to life, and I'd like to think that the real and perfect power of God will make a difference right now, today, in some of these lives, but I know that a lot of these stories have a lot of twists and turns before surrendering to the Lord.  And I know I won't always be there for these parts of their lives.  As much as I want to somehow be there for them, always, I know life doesn't work like that.

But I'm so thankful for these days I have been given with them.  For the privilege of being able to be with them in these days, even if they're numbered.  That's okay--the message of hope never dims.  What they learn about the Lord now will never change.  When their lives have changed, when their circumstances aren't what they always dreamed of, Jesus Christ will be there, the same yesterday, and today, and forever.

And that's a lot more than I say for myself, any day of the week.

The 12 Days of Dedication

I was reading Numbers 7 for my nighttime reading, and every time I read it (all 89 verses, haha, because it's the kind of chapter you feel silly stopping in the middle of, because whatever you read tomorrow will be a carbon copy of what you read tonight!) it rings through my head in a very 12 Days of Christmas style.

Presumably because there are lists of numbered things that were given, and they were given on 12 separate days.  Funny, that.

Anyhow, I've always sort of had it in my head as a song, and tonight realized that it doesn't fit at all.  But, I shall pretty much always sing it as a song when I read it, so I share it here, so you can annoying get the 12 Days of Christmas tune in your head as you read Numbers 7 next.  Because I love to share.  You're welcome.

On the first day of dedication the prince of Judah brought,
One weighty silver charger.

On the second day of dedication the prince of Issachar brought,
One silver bowl
And a weighty silver charger.

On the third day of dedication the prince of Zebulun brought,
One golden spoon,
One silver bowl,
And a weighty silver charger.

On the fourth day of dedication the prince of Reuben brought,
Various fillings,
One golden spoon,
One silver bowl,
And a weighty silver charger.

Okay, so this could go on forever.  And I'm cutting out may important things.  But as I said, this is actually remarkably difficult to condense appropriately.

On the twelfth day of dedication the prince of Naphtali brought,
Five first year lambies,
Five only male goats,
Five off'ring peace rams,
Two off'ring peace oxen,
One goat for sinning,
One first year lambie,
One ram for burning,
One young bullock.
Various fillings,
One golden spoon,
One silver  bowl,
And a weighty silver charger.

Phew.  That is a mouthful, and it leaves out a lot of important details.  And uses the word "lambies" because "lambs" isn't enough syllables.  So go, my friends.  Go forth and read Numbers 7, appreciate the exquisite detail, and feel free to let me know if you find a way to make this passage flow more smoothly (particularly lines that use words like lambies and off'ring)!  I think I'd sleep better at night if I had a version of this song that actually fit to this chapter!

I have way too much fun at work

Color of the week: purple.
Letter of the week: P.

Miss Joanne sometimes amuses herself above what the kids can ever appreciate.  Sigh.

Things I learned in 2013

This feels like deja vu.  I literally just did a "What I learned in 2012" post, but, as we all know, that was a whole year late, so...  I'll just do this, and maybe my "What I learned in 2014" post will seem normal, presuming I do it in 12 months instead of waiting till 2015 is over with.

Yikes.  2015 sounds frighteningly close.  It's a good thing I know the Lord is coming soon!  I won't have to worry about silly things like "What I learned" lists.  Especially when my lists are as subjective and vague as mine typically are.

As always, this list is in no particular order.

1)  Rice bags can catch on fire in the microwave.  In other news, microwaves still function even with holes melted into the side of them.  That is truly something I didn't used to know.
2)  People can still surprise you.  I'm not that old, but I have a habit of thinking that nothing is unexpected.  Well, it's not true.  Unexpected things can (and do) happen.
3)  God is a lot more gracious than I am.  I knew that, but I was reminded again this past year.
4)  I'm kind of emotional.  I used to mock my friends who teared up at the slightest provocation, but I'm not much better these days.  I don't know if it's age or event related, but I cry a lot more often than I want to.
5)  When I look around I realize that the Lord has a way of using substitution in my life.  In a good way.  For instance, there are things I think I want but instead of giving those to me, He gives to me things that feed the need perfectly for where I am in life.  That probably doesn't make sense, so I'll elaborate.  All I ever wanted to be from my youth up was to be a mom.  I never had career aspirations or even life aspirations, truth be told, outside of marriage and family.  And I still would love to be a mother, but at the current, that's not in the cards for me.  But what I do have is a passel of Sunday School kids, and a job at a daycare.  Almost every day of my life is filled with sticky smiles and heads of hair to braid.  So it might seem like a silly something (and I'm not trying to say that what I do is mothering, because you mothers out there know that it's way more than just making sure kids aren't choking on plastic bags or whatever), but I have been so thankful this past year to realize that the Lord knows my heart and keeps my lap filled with children who want to listen to me read story books.  It's a gift.  And I'm thankful for it.
6)  I should never be so dogmatic when I say that certain things won't happen.  Turns out #2 on my list applies to all kinds of areas.  Sometimes things that seem like they'll never happen do.
7)  Life is made of moments, not milestones.  I mean, some people get milestones, and I obviously have milestone-ish things in my life, but I've been learning not to look to milestones for contentment.  Life passes me by when I'm constantly looking ahead for events over which I hold no control.  Life is the every day, the mundane, the mealtimes and conversations and friendships and the shared memories.  Life isn't always about moments that are scrapbook-able.

I could go on.  But 2014 has already been overwhelming with with things and I'm afraid that if I finish this list (which I started a few weeks ago, but, as per usual, left in draft format for a while) it'll be subtly influenced by 2014.  And then what would I put on my list next year?  If the Lord doesn't come, that is.

Habit, I am thy creature

I like to think that I'm above stuff like habits.  I mean, brushing teeth and reading the Bible is good, but I've always had this vague opinion about myself that I could mix things up in my life and it would be no big deal.

Then I either got older or realized my habits for what they are:  habits.

This is super deep, I know.

There's an intersection I go through fairly often.  From that intersection there are two ways I could get home.  I could turn left, or go straight.  Both ways are probably comparable in time, though I guess I don't know exactly.  Anyhow, if I'm at that intersection coming home from the nursing home, I turn right.  If I'm there coming home from one of my Sunday school drop-offs, I go straight.

And I have no idea why.  I just do.

The same reason, probably, that there are some streets where I always drive in the left lane, even though I traditionally believe in driving in the right lane unless I'm passing someone.  It's a weird habit thing.

But it's interesting to think about habits at this point in the year.  People keep asking me what resolutions I made this year.

Resolutions?  Haha, ain't nobody got time for that.

But seriously, maybe I should be re-patterning parts of my life.  Because clearly, somewhere in the back portion of my brain, I love being a habitual person.  Regardless of whether or not I think I need habits or not, I make habits, and stick with them.  Imagine how awesome it would be if I made and kept good habits throughout my whole life!

Now I just have to decide if turning right is the good habit, or if going straight is.

It feels like a hard decision, actually.

I should probably eat less cookies.  Particularly when they're cute.