My washing machine makes me so mad. Seriously. I don't know what is wrong with it! First of all, it takes FOREVER to fill up! What should take about 35-45 minutes to be a full cycle, takes about an hour and fifteen minutes. Every cycle that requires the tub to be filled drags out the process. I don't even THINK about a double rinse cycle.
The latest thing is that if I don't remove the clothes immediately, I mean IMMEDIATELY, like in less than 30 minutes after the cycle is finished, then all my clothes smell mildewed. It's so gross and so maddening.
Last night, I thought I would do something nice for Zack, because he has been working 7 days a week, so I changed his sheets on his bed. When he got home late, he crawled into his lovely clean bed (at least that's how I pictured it!)
This morning he comes down the stairs into the kitchen and says, "Thanks for changing my sheets . . ." (I can feel the "but" in his voice) . . . "but the sheets were mildew smelling." UGHHHHHHH!!!!!! So frustrating.
All that to say, if you know why such a thing would happen, would you let me know what I do to get my washer fixed?
Not in Control
Sometimes, life isn't funny. Sometimes it's crazy and insane and maddening, but not funny.
Have you ever experienced something in life that was so mind bogglingly difficult that you really did feel like your head might split open from the pressure? It's not a fun feeling. It's even worse when you watch it happen to someone else. There is no real way to help them through it. You can give advice when asked. You can hold their hand. You can give them a shoulder to cry on and an ear to listen. But there isn't much more that you can do. And if you are a control freak like I am, it is HORRIBLE. But control freaks NEEEEEEEEED to fix things. And not everything can be fixed, at least not easily.
But I have a Love greater than life itself. So the feeling of helplessness, of hopelessness, of being consumed by constant torment and held tight by the tormentor, those feelings have no power of those of us who know that Love. For us, we have prayer. And prayer is something. It is better than something. It is everything. It holds us together. It gives us hope. It gives us something to do. It focuses our minds on the One who is control. It gives us peace. It calms our minds and our hearts and our spirits.
All that to say, prayer is the real work. And the One we pray to . . . He is in control. So we don't have to be.
Have you ever experienced something in life that was so mind bogglingly difficult that you really did feel like your head might split open from the pressure? It's not a fun feeling. It's even worse when you watch it happen to someone else. There is no real way to help them through it. You can give advice when asked. You can hold their hand. You can give them a shoulder to cry on and an ear to listen. But there isn't much more that you can do. And if you are a control freak like I am, it is HORRIBLE. But control freaks NEEEEEEEEED to fix things. And not everything can be fixed, at least not easily.
But I have a Love greater than life itself. So the feeling of helplessness, of hopelessness, of being consumed by constant torment and held tight by the tormentor, those feelings have no power of those of us who know that Love. For us, we have prayer. And prayer is something. It is better than something. It is everything. It holds us together. It gives us hope. It gives us something to do. It focuses our minds on the One who is control. It gives us peace. It calms our minds and our hearts and our spirits.
All that to say, prayer is the real work. And the One we pray to . . . He is in control. So we don't have to be.
Nothing IS Better Than Something
My blog, my journal of daily life, filled with random stories, true experiences, struggles, heartaches, joys, moments to celebrate, wrestlings with God, and such . . . my blog has been noticeably vacant.
It's not that I have nothing to write about, it's that I don't know what to do with the emotions that surround what I would write about. So I drive down the road looking for the inane, mundane things of life to write about, thinking that writing SOMETHING is better than nothing. I have chosen the easy road of writing something, but it has not been fulfilling, or particularly well written for that matter.
For you see, SOMETHING isn't better than NOTHING. Something is what we settle for because we are afraid that nothing is all we will ever have. The land of NOthing involves waiting . . . waiting for the RIGHTthing instead of settling for the SOMEthing. Does that make sense to you at all?
Isn't it true of everything in life? We fear having nothing so we settle for something . . . we fear not getting the right job, so we settle for the wrong one? We fear never getting married, so we accept the wrong proposal (not that I did this . . . in case you were wondering). We fear what might never be, so we settle for what is.
All that to say, Something isn't better than nothing. So until I have something to say that is the right thing to say, it is probably better that I say nothing at all.
It's not that I have nothing to write about, it's that I don't know what to do with the emotions that surround what I would write about. So I drive down the road looking for the inane, mundane things of life to write about, thinking that writing SOMETHING is better than nothing. I have chosen the easy road of writing something, but it has not been fulfilling, or particularly well written for that matter.
For you see, SOMETHING isn't better than NOTHING. Something is what we settle for because we are afraid that nothing is all we will ever have. The land of NOthing involves waiting . . . waiting for the RIGHTthing instead of settling for the SOMEthing. Does that make sense to you at all?
Isn't it true of everything in life? We fear having nothing so we settle for something . . . we fear not getting the right job, so we settle for the wrong one? We fear never getting married, so we accept the wrong proposal (not that I did this . . . in case you were wondering). We fear what might never be, so we settle for what is.
All that to say, Something isn't better than nothing. So until I have something to say that is the right thing to say, it is probably better that I say nothing at all.
Schockenfurgen
I went to IKEA today. I sort of love living where I am living right now because it is close to all kinds of AWESOME places, IKEA being one of them. Normally a drive to IKEA has always been like an hour drive, but now I am only like 10 minutes away! I love it. I love to get a basket and wander aimlessly, picking up random things I like but don't need. It's always a two hour trip to IKEA, no matter how big or small the crowd is.
But TODAY I went in with a purpose. I knew exactly, EXACTLY what I wanted! I got a close parking space, grabbed a soda and some free cookies (yum) and headed straight upstairs. Lo and Behold (I have no idea what lo and behold actually means) at the very top of the steps sat the item I needed. "Could this be for real," I asked myself.
The short answer. . . no.
It took me almost 20 minutes to figure out all the pieces I needed to purchase to equal my ONE item. Then it took me almost 20 more minutes to weave through the crowd of people and baskets and strollers and old people and sightseers. I'm not kidding! 20 minutes just to WALK THROUGH Ikea. Arghh.
Then finally I get to where my item is supposed to be, but I can't find it. Up and down the aisles we go, for 10 minutes. Finally, Mike says, "Why don't you ask someone where it is?" Sure . . . why don't I ask someone. Only problem is that means I have to do my LEAST favorite thing at IKEA. I have to try to say the name of the item and not sound stupid. Why can't they just give the items normal names? I get that the store owners are swedish. But seriously, I HATE to say the names of the items there. I was buying the efecktiv today and the numerster. So I had to go ask the customer service rep where the "efecktiv" was located. He smiled. (I know he was making fun of me. I could sense it.) Then he pointed directly behind me and lo and behold (couldn't resist) there it was.
All that to say, I like IKEA. But I am not a fan of Swedish. Or whatever the language is called. I feel dumb. Oh, and, my quick trip to IKEA STILL took me 2 hours. I guess IKEA means 2 hours in Swedish.
But TODAY I went in with a purpose. I knew exactly, EXACTLY what I wanted! I got a close parking space, grabbed a soda and some free cookies (yum) and headed straight upstairs. Lo and Behold (I have no idea what lo and behold actually means) at the very top of the steps sat the item I needed. "Could this be for real," I asked myself.
The short answer. . . no.
It took me almost 20 minutes to figure out all the pieces I needed to purchase to equal my ONE item. Then it took me almost 20 more minutes to weave through the crowd of people and baskets and strollers and old people and sightseers. I'm not kidding! 20 minutes just to WALK THROUGH Ikea. Arghh.
Then finally I get to where my item is supposed to be, but I can't find it. Up and down the aisles we go, for 10 minutes. Finally, Mike says, "Why don't you ask someone where it is?" Sure . . . why don't I ask someone. Only problem is that means I have to do my LEAST favorite thing at IKEA. I have to try to say the name of the item and not sound stupid. Why can't they just give the items normal names? I get that the store owners are swedish. But seriously, I HATE to say the names of the items there. I was buying the efecktiv today and the numerster. So I had to go ask the customer service rep where the "efecktiv" was located. He smiled. (I know he was making fun of me. I could sense it.) Then he pointed directly behind me and lo and behold (couldn't resist) there it was.
All that to say, I like IKEA. But I am not a fan of Swedish. Or whatever the language is called. I feel dumb. Oh, and, my quick trip to IKEA STILL took me 2 hours. I guess IKEA means 2 hours in Swedish.
A Day of Remembrance
But I remember that I walked into work through the side door, and as I passed Rocky's office, I could hear the tv on. Rocky had brought a tv from home the week before because his wife, Sue, was in New York with a group of friends, and he had wanted to see her on The Today Show and Good Morning America. He just hadn't taken the tv home yet.
As I passed his office, he said, "Did you see this?" And I said, "No, what is it?" He told me there had been a terrible accident and a commercial passenger plane had crashed into one of the World Trade Center Towers. As we watched, more and more of our co-workers started to arrive at work, and they, too, stopped in Rocky's office to watch the tragedy. We stared at it in horror and while we were watching it, another plane crashed into the other tower. Rocky said in the most somber voice, "People, we are at war."
Within moments, perhaps it was longer, but it felt like moments, the first tower collapsed. Then the second. Then the phones started to ring. The church phone, our cell phones, our office phones. Everywhere, all at once, the phones started to ring.
Later that day, my kids (who were in High School at the time) told me that the exact same thing happened in their classroom. All at once, everyone's cell phones started to ring. No one was sure exactly was was happening, but we all knew that we wanted the same thing . . . to be with the ones we loved, to hear their voices, to know they were okay.
People picked up their kids from school. It's not that we thought our kids were in danger, we just wanted them close. And then we all sat in front of our TV's for days. In horror we watched as ash covered ghosts appeared running down the street; some with bloody streaks seeping through the ash on their faces. In horror we watched as over and over and over again those towers fell on the tv screens. In horror we watched as a wall, a make-shift memorial/missing persons bulletin board, that stretched for what looked like miles, appeared at what would later be called "Ground Zero."
I don't think I will ever forget that day.
All that to say, it is a day to remember those whose lives were lost. Those who lost husbands, and fathers, and sons, and mothers and daughters and grandchildren. It is a day to remember a tragedy that scarred our hearts and our country.
Driving
I am THAT person. The one who gets frustrated behind you because you are driving too slow, and so with a grand amount of drama, I pass you, only to slow down a bit when I get right beside you, then look over at you, like I need to see what kind of blankety-blank driver goes so slow. (yes, I said blankety-blank)
My kids hate it when I do this. They always say, "Don't look." But I can't help it. I have to look. Usually, when I look I catch the driver doing something stupid, like putting on make-up. I once passed a woman on the Beltway doing about 50 miles an hour (the speed limit is 65, I probably wanted to go 70). As far as driving on the Beltway goes 50 is slow, but as far as acceptable speeds at which to apply mascara goes . . . SERIOUSLY, she was putting on mascara at 50 MILES AN HOUR!
I've seen crazier though. One time I passed a guy reading a novel. True Story. He had his book propped up on his steering wheel. Flying down the interstate reading a book.
Of course I have passed people doing less crazy things, but none the less, things that caused them not to pay attention to their speed. Things like, talking on the phone, texting while driving, searching for a radio station, looking for something in the backseat, discipling their kids, the list could go on.
But the grossest, by far the GROSSEST thing I have ever seen, I saw yesterday. If you have a weak stomach, do not continue reading. (THAT WAS YOUR WARNING!) Yesterday, coming home from work on the Beltway, I get stuck behind this guy going like 45. So with the usual drama, I pass him, get right up beside him and look over at him. He has his pinky finger shoved so far up his nose, I swear it was completely enveloped by his nose. And right at the moment that I look over, he drags that finger out with the longest, thickest booger I have ever seen in my life. It was (and I am NOT exaggerating) about the length and width of an egg noodle. It was unexpectedly long for him as well, because right as he is dragging this thing out, he gags, which makes me gag. (I told you it was gross.)
Then I realize how long I have been staring at this guy, because there are now cars behind me ticked that I am driving so slow.
All that to say, this experience might have actually broken me from doing the quit-driving-so-slow staredown when I pass people from now on.
My kids hate it when I do this. They always say, "Don't look." But I can't help it. I have to look. Usually, when I look I catch the driver doing something stupid, like putting on make-up. I once passed a woman on the Beltway doing about 50 miles an hour (the speed limit is 65, I probably wanted to go 70). As far as driving on the Beltway goes 50 is slow, but as far as acceptable speeds at which to apply mascara goes . . . SERIOUSLY, she was putting on mascara at 50 MILES AN HOUR!
I've seen crazier though. One time I passed a guy reading a novel. True Story. He had his book propped up on his steering wheel. Flying down the interstate reading a book.
Of course I have passed people doing less crazy things, but none the less, things that caused them not to pay attention to their speed. Things like, talking on the phone, texting while driving, searching for a radio station, looking for something in the backseat, discipling their kids, the list could go on.
But the grossest, by far the GROSSEST thing I have ever seen, I saw yesterday. If you have a weak stomach, do not continue reading. (THAT WAS YOUR WARNING!) Yesterday, coming home from work on the Beltway, I get stuck behind this guy going like 45. So with the usual drama, I pass him, get right up beside him and look over at him. He has his pinky finger shoved so far up his nose, I swear it was completely enveloped by his nose. And right at the moment that I look over, he drags that finger out with the longest, thickest booger I have ever seen in my life. It was (and I am NOT exaggerating) about the length and width of an egg noodle. It was unexpectedly long for him as well, because right as he is dragging this thing out, he gags, which makes me gag. (I told you it was gross.)
Then I realize how long I have been staring at this guy, because there are now cars behind me ticked that I am driving so slow.
All that to say, this experience might have actually broken me from doing the quit-driving-so-slow staredown when I pass people from now on.
To You Oh Lord
An excerpt, a prayer from my journal today. Don't usually share these, but thought it would be encouraging to you. This is the God I love. And maybe the one you love too.
You, oh God, are the creator of the universe.
The maker of life. The giver of hope.
The designer of heaven. The keeper of promises.
The deliverer of captives. The rescuer of the weak.
The mover of mountains.
Nothing is too hard for you, too big for you,
too heavy for you, too complicated for you,
too messy for you, too personal for you.
You see the smallest of problems,
the depths of despair,
the slightest hurts,
the deepest wounds,
the most insignificant of thoughts.
You wage war against our enemy.
You give us strength and a shield,
a helmet and a sword. How great you are indeed.
You are a victorious warrior, a strong tower,
a shelter, a refuge, a rock.
You care deeply for me.
You knit me together in my mother's womb.
You know the number of hairs on my head.
You collect my tears in a bottle.
You know my thoughts before I think them.
You know when I rise and when I go to sleep.
You are my God.
The only true God.
All that you give to me is good.
Even my suffering is good.
You are worthy of my praise.
You alone, are worthy of my praise.
All that to say, God, oh how I love you.
You, oh God, are the creator of the universe.
The maker of life. The giver of hope.
The designer of heaven. The keeper of promises.
The deliverer of captives. The rescuer of the weak.
The mover of mountains.
Nothing is too hard for you, too big for you,
too heavy for you, too complicated for you,
too messy for you, too personal for you.
You see the smallest of problems,
the depths of despair,
the slightest hurts,
the deepest wounds,
the most insignificant of thoughts.
You wage war against our enemy.
You give us strength and a shield,
a helmet and a sword. How great you are indeed.
You are a victorious warrior, a strong tower,
a shelter, a refuge, a rock.
You care deeply for me.
You knit me together in my mother's womb.
You know the number of hairs on my head.
You collect my tears in a bottle.
You know my thoughts before I think them.
You know when I rise and when I go to sleep.
You are my God.
The only true God.
All that you give to me is good.
Even my suffering is good.
You are worthy of my praise.
You alone, are worthy of my praise.
All that to say, God, oh how I love you.
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