Am I Good Enough?

I try very hard not to be any kind of "-ist" (agist, sexist, racist).  I often fall into stereo-typical thinking though.  

Like diabetes.  My stereotype of diabetics is that they are negative, pessimistic people.  I have known several diabetics who just don't take care of themselves and then get on dialysis and behave as if they are the most unfortunate creature on an earth who conspires against them. I don't say it but I think to myself that they could have avoided their situation with some proper health management.

And then there is breast cancer.  My stereotype of breast cancer patients is that they are upbeat, positive, strong and courageous.  They champion the cause and fight valiantly.  They herald their faith and through their outlook bring others closer to Christ.

I often wonder if I could rise to the challenge of breast cancer and be as upbeat and positive as those I have observed.  I tend to think I would not.  I think I would cower in fear.  So then I think maybe I won't get breast cancer because I probably wouldn't be a good servant to God through that battle.  Maybe I'll get diabetes instead because I know I can manage my diet and encourage others to do the same.  

Of course, this is just my perception of things.  I know that God will use me as He will.  And I really can't be proud of the fact that, if things went according to my ideas, I would get a lesser disease because I wouldn't be a good enough example to get the really challenging disease.

Sore Shoulders and Blue Paint

The week before school started was very busy in the Technology department.  We moved a lot of equipment around between campuses and worked some long days.  By Friday night when I got home I had such a knot in the muscles around my left shoulder blade that 600mg of Ibuprofen provided no relief.  I really needed a good massage but there was no one at home to do that for me.  So as I got in bed I prayed for relief and I went to sleep fully expecting that this pain would be with me for a few days.

During the night I dreamed that blue paint was poured or spilled on my shoulder.  When I awoke my first thought was to consult my dream dictionary but I decided to just use my own intuition as a guide.  I thought about what the color blue symbolizes to me:  peace, tranquility.  I thought about what paint symbolizes to me:  a new start, something fresh and restored.

When I got out of bed I was pleasantly surprised to find that my muscle was restored and I was pain free.  I feel like it was at that moment in my dream when the blue paint was poured on my shoulder that God was reaching down and answering my prayer and healing my shoulder.

Amen!

Making Memories

I work for a school district so I'm off for the summer.  So is my youngest child.  But not my husband.  In fact, he is busier at work this summer than he has been in a long time.  Even though he is his own boss - he won't schedule time off.  We have weekends together - if he's not too tired or working extra to get caught up.  But we're not taking a family vacation this summer.   I try not to complain because I know that there will be other times when he won't have work so it's important to get the income while it is available.  But part of me thinks - even the president takes time off to be with his family.  We're not going to get these summers back.  Life is finite.  And the best thing we can leave behind for those we love is good memories.

Tattoos

I'm old school in a lot of my thinking - and I don't really believe in tattoos.  My older son does though, and he has several of them.  The other day he asked me if I would get one with him.  Right away I said no!  Honestly, I'm not just afraid of the commitment, but also the pain.  (Not to mention that my husband would be "less than pleased" as he does not find tattoos attractive either.)

But a few weeks ago, as I was contemplating the approaching of 7/12/14, for about 5 minutes I entertained the idea of getting a tattoo.  It would be simply "7/12/17".  Somewhere where I could see it regularly to remind me to appreciate life in every moment.  Maybe on the inside of my wrist.  But I don't want it to be confused with any allusion to concentration camp tattoos.

And I imagined that when the coroner is doing an autopsy on me, and making note of distinguishing marks, they might see it and realize I had my death date tattooed on my arm.  They might say, "huh, she knew all along".

Odd how human nature drives us to want to be right - even about one's own death.

And in the end (well, not THE end), I decided to order a bracelet from eBay in my favorite Brasil colors and wear it as if it were a tattoo.

Grandchildren

Since I've been off for the summer, I've been trying to clean out closets and such.  When my oldest children were young I had saved some of their best toys and imagined that one day I would pass them on to their children.  Somehow those boxes got lost in a move...but this summer I found myself packing away some special toys and blankets I knitted for my youngest and some of my favorite clothes that he wore, thinking that one day I would enjoy caring for and playing with his children using those items.

You know, classic toys like Lincoln Logs and big chunky plastic cars with no batteries, games I made for him myself - customized to his life/world/preferences.  Things that I would have loved to see from my parents childhood.

A few times I had to push away the little voice that wanted to shake me and scream at me, "Why are you doing all this - you're not going to have grandchildren in the next three years and after you die this is all going to get thrown away by people who don't share the same nostalgia."