by jphilo | Feb 27, 2015 | Daily Life
Friday on this Gravel Road means it’s time to dig through the archives for a past post worth another read. This one hails from February of 2013. Reading it was a bit discouraging, as it showed my impatience hasn’t increased much in the past 2 years. Anyone else suffer from this affliction? Leave a comment R-I-G-H-T N-O-W so we can start a support group pronto!
This past Wednesday was not a good day.
First, I was supposed to meet a friend for coffee in the morning and because I’d written the time down wrong, got there a half hour late. Being an impatient person, I hate to keep others waiting.
But that wasn’t the worst of it.
After working on a blog post for over almost two hours, it refused to come together the way I wanted. Impatient people like me don’t have time to waste spend almost two hours on a single blog post.
But that wasn’t the worst of it.
The google chat audio feature was malfunctioning on my computer, so I missed an online meeting in the afternoon. Impatient people have no patience with technical glitches.
But that wasn’t the worst of it.
A publisher rejected a piece I wrote for a devo Bible being compiled by a friend. Not only that, the publisher wanted extensive citations (including book page numbers) for a half-dozen quotes for other pieces I’d written. Impatient people don’t enjoy skimming long books to find page numbers.
But that wasn’t the worst of it.
Hiram spent all afternoon trying to file our income tax with Turbo Tax. He’s usually pretty patient, but after several hours of online chats with Turbo Tax experts and two phone calls, he was a little cranky. Impatient people like me think we’re the only ones with a right to be cranky.
But that wasn’t the worst of it.
The cold Hiram’s been fighting for two weeks came back with a vengeance that night. He ran a temperature again and coughed all night. Which didn’t sit well with a woman who needs plenty of sleep in order to be patient.
But that wasn’t the worst of it.
The worst of it was this. I woke up Thursday morning and realized impatient people like me spend all their time looking at gray skies. We are so focused on the gloom, we don’t even see the gap in the clouds and the sun streaming through.
Impatient people like me forget they have
friends to visit,
blogs to write,
a computer that functions flawlessly 99.9% of the time,
writing projects to complete,
income tax refunds to file,
and a husband whose job provides sick leave and excellent health insurance.
Yes, that’s the worst of it.
Dear Father, forgive me for not slowing down to look for the gap in the clouds. Forgive me for focusing on the gloomy clouds and missing the joy of the Son. Please teach me to be patient…as quickly as possible. Amen.
by jphilo | Dec 2, 2014 | Top Ten Tuesday
10. Not paying an arm and a leg to fill the gas tank on the way to visit rellies over the holidays.
9. Fixing hearty, hot meals that include mashed potatoes and gravy because winter is about food like that.
8. Catching up with family and friends when their Christmas cards arrive.
7. Celebrating Eternal Optimist Day on December 21. Because for the next 6 months, the daylight hours keep increasing. Yes!
6. Stringing Christmas tree all over the house to make it feel like Eternal Optimist Day is arriving early.
5. Continuing our tradition of watching the Lord of the Ring movies throughout Christmas break.
4. Enjoying the heated seats in our new car on the chilly drive to Wisconsin this weekend.
3. Watching our grandson’s eyes light up when he opens the ukulele his Papoo made for him as a Christmas gift…one of the perks of having a papoo who makes guitars!
2. Going to Des Moines for supper and a movie with my sweetie…in our new car with heated seats.
1. Singing Silent Night at church during the Christmas Eve service at our church. A holy moment that moves me to tears each year.
by jphilo | Feb 8, 2013 | Daily Life
This past Wednesday was not a good day.
First, I was supposed to meet a friend for coffee in the morning and because I’d written the time down wrong, got there a half hour late. Being an impatient person, I hate to keep others waiting.
But that wasn’t the worst of it.
After working on a blog post for over almost two hours, it refused to come together the way I wanted. Impatient people like me don’t have time to waste spend almost two hours on a single blog post.
But that wasn’t the worst of it.
The google chat audio feature was malfunctioning on my computer, so I missed an online meeting in the afternoon. Impatient people have no patience with technical glitches.
But that wasn’t the worst of it.
A publisher rejected a piece I wrote for a devo Bible being compiled by a friend. Not only that, the publisher wanted extensive citations (including book page numbers) for a half-dozen quotes for other pieces I’d written. Impatient people don’t enjoy skimming long books to find page numbers.
But that wasn’t the worst of it.
Hiram spent all afternoon trying to file our income tax with Turbo Tax. He’s usually pretty patient, but after several hours of online chats with Turbo Tax experts and two phone calls, he was a little cranky. Impatient people like me think we’re the only ones with a right to be cranky.
But that wasn’t the worst of it.
The cold Hiram’s been fighting for two weeks came back with a vengeance that night. He ran a temperature again and coughed all night. Which didn’t sit well with a woman who needs plenty of sleep in order to be patient.
But that wasn’t the worst of it.
The worst of it was this. I woke up Thursday morning and realized impatient people like me spend all their time looking at gray skies. We are so focused on the gloom, we don’t even see the gap in the clouds and the sun streaming through.
Impatient people like me forget they have
friends to visit,
blogs to write,
a computer that functions flawlessly 99.9% of the time,
writing projects to complete,
income tax refunds to file,
and a husband whose job provides sick leave and excellent health insurance.
Yes, that’s the worst of it.
Dear Father, forgive me for not slowing down to look for the gap in the clouds. Forgive me for focusing on the gloomy clouds and missing the joy of the Son. Please teach me to be patient…as quickly as possible. Amen.
by jphilo | May 21, 2012 | Walking Down the Gravel Road
Yesterday turned out not to be one of my best days. I landed in the middle of a mess, big enough to make the memory lapses mentioned in last Friday’s post more worrisome than humorous. A mess that made me feel like our pink peony bush hit by frost awhile back – disappointed by the promise of beauty nipped in the bud. A mess big enough to make me wish for a humongous do over or a trip back in time.
That didn’t happen so I did the next best thing instead. I took my camera along on my morning walk, determined to photograph the beauty around me. First I saw a pair of goldfinches. They are everywhere this spring, and this male sat still long enough to have his picture taken,
though his dowdy wife flew out of the tree just before I could capture her photo.
Next, a red fox made an appearance, but you’ll have to take my word on that because he ran into the ditch and hid before I got my camera out. Not too much further along, a photogenic woodpecker struck a pose,
and a Grant Wood-style plowed field took my breath away.
Beside the stone culvert over the stream, the wild rose that caught my eye the other day still sported a few blossoms,
but the little shrine beside it – perhaps in memory of the high school student who committed suicide last Thursday evening – brought tears to my eyes.
I thought about the woman in our town who will soon bury her son.
I imagined how her heart is breaking,
How she must want to go back in time,
How she would give anything for a do over.
The remainder of my walk yielded no photographs. No more birds, no flowers, no scenic panoramas. Not because beauty disappeared, but because my perspective changed. Beauty hugged me close, too close for a photograph. Blessings surrounded me.My children are alive. My husband is healthy. A grandchild is coming.
Living children.
A healthy husband.
A grandchild coming.
My messes are small.
My burdens are light.
I am blessed.
by jphilo | Apr 19, 2011 | Family
Our son called yesterday, as he does every weekend. My heart swelled with joy and gratitude after we said our good-byes, and I thanked God for our resurrected relationship, our evidence of Easter in our lives. The world is crowded with hurting people who need the promise of resurrected dreams. But they live in darkness, hopeless and alone. My prayer for them hasn’t changed since a year ago when the post below was written. God, meet them in their pain. Give them hope. And give them laughter, too.
God, Give Them Laughter, Too
Most of the time, identifying with women in the Bible doesn’t come easy to me. I’m not queenly like Esther. I didn’t follow my mother-in-law to a foreign land like Ruth, and my chosen professions have been quite different than Rahab’s. My humility and faith fall far short of Mary the mother of Jesus, and I certainly didn’t raise a perfect child. (Sorry kids!)
I can’t dance like Salome, cut hair like Delilah, or sit contentedly at Jesus’ feet like Mary of Bethany. I can be as bossy and driven as Martha, but who wants to admit something like that?
Even with my rotten track record, one woman from the Bible made my kindred spirit short list about eight months ago when our son announced his engagement to a wonderful young woman. Sarah, wife of Abraham, is one chick I totally get. I get why she laughed when God promised she would bear a child, though she was old, old. old.
Two years ago, if God had said something like, “Your son will get married on April 11, 2010,” I would have laughed, too. See, back then my son’s career choice made no room for marriage. And after five long years of his stalwart resolution to pursue that course for life, I’d come to accept his choice. More than that, I’d found peace and a way to maintain a loving relationship with my son. I’d even learned to accept God’s will instead of demanding He fulfill my hopes and dreams for my firstborn.
After I made my peace, if God had dropped the he’ll-get-married-and-you-might-have-grandchildren-someday bombshell, I would have done one of two things. Either I would have gotten really mad and told God to quit raising my hopes about something I didn’t dare hope about, or like Sarah, I would have laughed at his joke. Sarah made the better choice, to laugh, drop the matter, and move on.
But God, in his infinite wisdom, didn’t drop the matter. He gave Sarah a son in her old age. In Genesis 21:6, Sara says this after her son’s birth. “God has made laughter for me; everyone who hears will laugh over me.”
I totally get what she’s saying because what she describes happens to my family these days. When we tell people about our son’s upcoming wedding, everyone responds with joy. Smiles, chuckles and beaming grins abound. Sarah’s words come alive.
God has made laughter for me.
Still, in the midst of joy, I am aware of the suffering and sorrow of others. My laughter could mock a mother estranged from a son, a single person wishing for a spouse, an infertile couple unable to conceive. So in the midst of joy, tears fill my eyes. I ask God to comfort those whose stories are so painful they can’t laugh for someone else’s joy.
Help them find your peace in their current circumstances, dear Father. Give them hope to hang on until you bring laughter back into their lives. Give them a sweet story to tell, one that brings joy to their hearts and to the hearts of all who hear it. Amen.
