God Moments – Page 3 – The Monica Chronicles

December 22, 2014

On Giving and Receiving

As the saying goes, it is much better to give than receive. At least I felt that way yesterday afternoon when I dutifully responded to cat cries and got up from my recliner to let Izzie inside, only to discover she had a wiggling mole dangling from her mouth! She was so proud of her gift to me, as she tried to gain entry into the kitchen. I was torn between wanting to give her the recognition she so wanted and the sympathy I felt for the small creature whose life was in jeopardy.

I did what any red blooded American woman would do; I called for my husband to come handle it!

The actual times he has been around to handle this type of situation have been so few, that I felt it was only fair that he be included in Izzie’s gift. After all, I was certain it was intended for the both of us. He eventually came to my rescue and went around back to see if he could coax Izzie to bring her present out through the cat door. That didn’t work, but she did drop it and I was able to get her to come inside, allowing me to go out to the porch and unhook the door so that Dave could rescue the mole. We’re not sure how extensive his injuries were, but Dave carefully placed in back in the woods under cover to meet his destiny.

As we move into the final days before Christmas and the tension builds as to whether I’ve made the right choices, I worry about just how my gifts will be received. Will my gifts be received with joy or will the reaction be as if I’ve offered rodents to my friends and family?

I wonder if God feels that way sometimes when He looks down at us at Christmas. These days the focus on the holy day is so much more about us and our hopes and dreams with a smidgeon of welcoming the Christ child into the world and less and less about the real meaning. I believe the true meaning isn’t about babies and stables but that we as Christians have been given the task to bring Christ into the world. Just as Mary bore him in the stable, it is our job to be Christ-bearers.

It’s not always an easy gift to receive and accept or even understand. But some gifts are like that, aren’t they Izzie?

June 17, 2014

Thoughts of Mary, Martha and Fatherhood

Dave pondering a map along the Skyline Drive on our honeymoon. — Dave pondering a map along the Skyline Drive on our honeymoon in 1980.

This past weekend Dave and I celebrated our 34th wedding anniversary and you’d think that after forty or so years of knowing someone, there would be relatively little new discoveries about them. Sometimes though, all of a sudden, a spark of realization pops into my head, an epiphany of sorts, that hits me square in the face (metaphorically) and I connect dots in a new way. Last Friday, as I was pondering our married life together, I experienced one of those moments. I was thinking about Dave and I and how different we approach life and it occurred to me that in Biblical terms Dave is a “Mary” to my “Martha”

While I maintain an overworked hyper awareness of my surroundings like Supergirl; arms akimbo, standing on a rooftop (cape flying in the breeze) vigilantly keeping watch for those in need, Dave has a super-human ability to sit and ponder only what is directly in front of him, totally oblivious to what is going on in the world around him. When he was a student at the Naval War College, it used to amaze me how he could it in a chair, engrossed in dry text books on philosophy and history undisturbed while family life went on around him; kids running in and out, the phone ringing, the dog barking, the TV blaring, none of it phased him.

Understandably, this difference of focus caused some moments of frustration on my part, especially when the kids were little. At the end of the day I was exhausted by the constant demands of motherhood, housekeeping and the community activities I seem to always be involved in. So much of the time Dave was physically gone; either at sea or on some crazy watch schedule, that when he was home, he just never seemed to fall into step with the routine of things. At least that’s the way I used to see things.

Now that those tough years have passed and I have time to reacquaint myself with my husband, I see him through different eyes. As I look back, even though he never seemed to jump into my dealings with Maggie and Andy, he was still always present to them. When he was home he was the one who read the books before bed and tucked them in while I collapsed in my chair. Dave also was their chauffeur, driving instructor (thank God!) and “good cop” to my “bad cop”. Secretly I wanted the roles reversed; I wanted to be the provider of hugs and let him handle the discipline. It just never seemed to work out that way.

Anyway, it was just the other day when I realized that Dave, in his silent focus and solitary ponderings, is like Mary in that his work is quiet and generally unseen. The fact that the rest of us never disturbed him was a good thing; he has never been one of those husbands who had to go somewhere else for peace and quiet; he always brought his “cone of silence” with him. He also provided an island of tranquility in my Martha sea of perpetual involvement. And, like Martha, I wasn’t quiet in my displeasure of what I perceived as carrying the load alone.

It’s incredible that I can still be discovering things about a person I have known for forty years. Perhaps it’s one of the reasons we’ve beaten the odds and stayed together. The adventure of knowing and still not fully knowing, the continual unravelling of the truth is what keeps faith alive.

March 26, 2014

Reality Check

Life has a funny way of handing out reality checks when you least expect it. Yesterday afternoon I went on a potential client interview with my Habitat for Humanity buddy, Chris to assess the need for a handicap ramp. It was my third interview of this kind, so I was feeling more relaxed about going to a stranger’s home and obtaining the kind of personal information required to get the application process started.

It was another snowy day here in Central Virginia. In fact, we’ve had so many “snow days” this year that instead of just clearing my calendar and nesting for the day, my response was a callous “screw it” and I merely bundled up and went on with my business. After meeting Chris for lunch to discuss an upcoming meeting, we headed off for our home visit. For the most part the roads were clear but the further we drove off the main roads, the more I could hear and feel the wet snow packing under my tires. Our client’s drive was long and covered with about five inches of snow. Putting my faith in my CRV’s four-wheel-drive, I headed in and parked.

We were greeted at the door by an older gentleman with a big smile revealing many lost teeth and a black pit bull. His eyes were icy blue and I thought maybe he’d been drinking but didn’t want to be quick to judge. After all, his tooth loss could account for his slurred speech. The dog was very friendly to me when I put out my hand to her, but took exception to Chris and gave him a snarl. The man quickly corrected the dog and led us to a back bedroom where his wife was sitting up in a hospital bed. She smiled a toothless smile as we entered.

The room was chock full of stuff. Close by the bed sat a commode chair and a mini fridge topped by a microwave and coffee maker; all the creature comforts were close by allowing her a modicum of self-sufficiency. There was also lots of medical supplies, a CPAP, oxygen tanks, a walker and wheelchair as well as another small bed where her husband slept by her side at night. Despite her many physical ailments, partial blindness, COPD, a broken foot, diabetes, and neuropathy, she was cheerful.

Since her eyesight was bad, Chris and I assisted her with the application. She explained that her family had fallen on hard times. Her medical bills were mounting and her son was recently laid off from his job while the other one was in jail. The only income the family received was Social Security Disability.

To some this may be surprising, but this woman’s story was similar to those we’ve heard before as we meet with clients. We are constantly reminded that not everyone lives the way we do; in good health, in homes in good repair and with resources to lean on in times of trouble. What I wasn’t prepared for was the answer she gave to one of the first questions we asked, “what is your age?” She replied, “55”.

Even though I entered the number on the form with no visible reaction, I was shaken by the fact that this poor woman, with her multitude of physical and family issues was three years younger than me. How could this be?

I know I have great difficulty in embracing the fact that I am indeed getting older. Not only is my birthday in the last century, it is pretty close to the middle of the last century. Seeing this woman was more than a gentle reminder than no matter how well I take care of myself, no matter what face cream or toothpaste I use, I am indeed moving much further from the beginning and much closer to the end of my life. It really is time to take stock and finally figure out what I’m going to do with myself.

To put even more emphasis on this point, this morning as I walked out to my car to leave for the gym, again triumphant that I wasn’t going to let the snow stop me, I again stepped onto the patch of ice where the downspout hits the driveway and was again dropped to the ground. I’m beginning to feel a bit like St. Paul. I just need to listen a bit more closely to learn just what God is trying to tell me.

Any ideas?

January 30, 2014

A Day of the Unexpected

You never can tell what direction a day will take when you first open your eyes and greet the morning, with or without enthusiasm. This past week I have added prayer to my morning routine. As soon as Dave heads for the shower, I turn on my bedside light and reach for my little book of daily centering prayers. They are short, simple and direct; gently guiding me to tune my mind into the right station before my feet hit the floor. My goal is to acheive the opposite of “garbage in; garbage out” focusing on “good in; good out” instead. With five days under my belt, I think I’m on to something.

My first project of the day was to go to the post office to mail off the pile of invitations I’ve been working on for a local dinner sponsored by Habitat for Humanity to rally community support. I’ve spent some long hours at my laptop, burrowing into local websites and Googling to amass my list. I spent hours designing and finally printing out the invitations and matching evelopes so by the time I was sliding them into the local and out of town slots at the post office, I felt I’d really accomplished something and was ready for the next task.

Today, that task was going to be in the form of addressing some housework that had been sorely neglected while I was doing my volunteer job. I’d planned on finally mopping the floors and clearing some clutter. But, as the saying goes, ” the best laid plans….”

Soon after I returned from the post office, my friend Vanya called to chat. We usally FaceTime on Tuesday and Thursday mornings but our routine has been compromised lately for a variety of reasons. We were due for a talk.

I went into the family room to sit and relax while we talked when I noticed the sound of running water coming from my upstairs bathroom. Hmmmm. I knew the load in the washer had ended. There shouldn’t have been any water running anywhere up there, or down here for that matter. I decided to investigate.

As I drew closer to my bathroom, I could hear the faucet in the garden tub running. What I found was something I never expected to see; the tub almost full to the point of over-flowing and all the plants I’d lovingly placed on the bottom of the tub to save them from the kittens, were floating in a pool of emusified potting soil, liberated leaves, a Longerberger basket and a purpleTopsy Turvy hair towel thrown in for a little color. It was a good thing I got there when I did, because even though the drain stopper was up, the drain itself was clogged from the debris. I turned off the water, removed the plants to a drier place and opened the drain with the aid of my trusty plunger. How did this come to pass? My only guess is KITTENS!

My mother keeps telling me how lucky I am to have to opportunity to see the two of them at play and for the most part, I have to agree. There are other times however, when they are prowling the house that they remind me of the evil velosoraptures in the first Jurassic Park movie; their sleek dark bodies and bright, intellegent eyes, drinking in everything and learning from every experience. But, more times than not, they will end a tear through the house by running up my chest and rubbing their little heads against my chin. What’s a mother to do?

Tomorrow I will finally take them back to the shelter to go off on an “adoption event” this weekend. I may never see them again. It hurts to see them go, but it is time.

The second part of my day that was unexpected was the call from my daughter Maggie telling me that her father-in-law, Arwed, was killed this morning in an accident. She had little information other than that and was on her way home to meet up with Jan. I was in shock. How could it be? How horrible for his wife Teresa, his children, Jan and Isolde, Maggie and for all of us who knew and loved him. How could it be?

My filthy tub moved way down on the priority list, I began my calls. I called Andy first, so he could comfort Maggie and then I called Teresa.

At first I wasn’t sure I should. Would she want to hear from me? After a few moments of wrestling with myself, I picked up my cell and pushed “call” by her name. I’d figured I’d probably get a machine and leave a comforting message so when she picked up right away, I was a bit shakey but that was okey; she was very shakey too. I let her tell me the story of what had happened to Arwed and how unexpected his death was. They were going to celebrate their 30th wedding anniversary this year with a big party. “So many plans”, she said.

For the remainder of the day I have made calls to other family members to pass along the news but in the inbetween times, I’ve been very quiet. My whole body feels like I’m weeping and my eyes feel heavy and wet. A voice in my head told me to go back to the prayer that started my day. When I re-read it, the words took on new meaning:

Arwed and Teresa at Magge and Jan's wedding in September. — Arwed and Teresa at Magge and Jan’s wedding in September.

God is love.

We come from God.

We return to God and in between we become love.

All things come and go. Love endures forever.

Amen.

January 3, 2014

Oh, To See My Grandma Dance!

20140103-164332.mov

A couple of days ago my cousin Rick posted this short video clip on Facebook taken twenty-six years ago at his wedding reception featuring my Grandma Farner on the dance floor. As it begins, Grandma is dancing with my Dad to the song, “Misty”. Soon my Uncle Ronnie came up and tapped him on the shoulder to cut in, followed by their brother Bob then my cousin, Rob and his brothers, our cousins, etc., etc., etc. as if they were lined up of screen to dance with Grandma; each taking a few turns with her before being tapped on the shoulder by the next.

It is such a sweet scene and to say I was enchanted by it would be an understatement. Aside from the fact Grandma’s been gone for many years, I’d never seen her dance before! Mesmerized, I tapped the start arrow over and over again to catch a glimpse of the family gathering one more time with Grandma gliding across the dance floor in the arms of some of the men in her life who loved her very much.

More than a few times this week, I’ve sat here at my desk, blank screen before me, attempting to wax poetically about the experience of seeing these people so dear to me in a way that fully expressed my feelings and emotions but it’s been tough. Since Rick’s wedding, we’ve said goodbye to several of the featured “stars”. Grandma, my uncles, Bob, Ronnie and Bruce and my Beautiful Aunt Dorothy, Rick’s mother, have all passed on to the next life. Being able to see them for even a few seconds, to recharge my memories was a Christmas miracle to me and a priceless gift.

It was like peeking into heaven; a grainy vision of family celebrating family, smiling and dancing, and mostly, loving. I’ve always imagined heaven to be something like that. In my mind’s eye, I see my grandparents sitting at their kitchen table, with Grandpa in his chair at the head and Grandma at his side, in close proximity to the stove. As each family member passes on, I see them entering the kitchen from the side porch door, grabbing the coffee mug with their name on it from the shelves on the wall and then joining Grandma and Grandpa at the table for some coffee. The room is warm, everyone is happy. What could be more perfect?

Thanks Rick for sharing that little glimpse of your special day. I can’t really say I miss the people in the video who have passed, because I feel them with me all the time; we are all woven from the same cloth. But to see them, to be reminded again was so precious. There just aren’t words.

December 31, 2013

My New Year’s Resolution

New Years Eve It’s New Year’s Eve – again.

After so many years of changing calendars, the thrill of increasing the year value by one seems so trivial. Who celebrates the end of the month with a party with cries of; “Yeah, it’s February!” for instance? Why does the end of a year hold so much value to us as a culture? It’s not like we place any special meaning on particular years as they arrive as the Chinese do. For them 2014 will be the Year of the Green Wood Horse which is full of meaning for those who follow these things. 2014 in the western world is simply the year following 2013 and prior to 2015 with little meaning in its own right. So, what’s the big deal? Really? Why should today be any more of a day for personal reflection than any other day?

One thing that traditionally makes New Year’s Eve special is that it is an excuse to have a party. My limited web research yielded a history of new year celebrations in western culture dating back to the ancient Babylonians. Their calendar, like that of the Chinese was based on lunar cycles and had a mystical quality to them. It seems their world view was so dependent upon staying in favor with their gods that when the new year actually arrived, it was cause for celebration.

These days we just don’t tie God in too much with our calendar. Oh sure, we all know when Christmas is and that it is Jesus’ birthday and we make a point of knowing when Easter is so we can plan our egg hunts and family dinners accordingly, but how many of us really think about God at New Year’s? Do we celebrate that we are given another year to again try to get it right or are we just celebrating for the sake of celebration? I’m not sure. Certainly many will profess to celebrate God all year, and truthfully, many do. But how many of us, myself included, can really say they actively see the power of God in each and every day?

As happens so many times when I sit down to right, I’m not sure where I’m going or where I’ll end up. This time I’ve apparently given myself something to think about as we say goodbye to the old year and ring in the new and I suppose I’ve just challenged myself to begin to celebrate the end of each day, month and year in a new way; to open myself to the possibility that there was a lot more to the way our ancient forbearers perceived these annual new beginnings as linked to the divine and not just some silly superstition.

I guess that is my resolution for the New Year; to keep my eyes and mind open; to listen and hear. I’ll let you know how that works for me. Thanks for listening to me.

December 26, 2013

Stollen Moments

Having exceeded my annual allotment of sweets over the past two weeks, I dragged my now somewhat heavier butt off to the gym for a post-Christmas workout with Lorenzo. Surprisingly, my over indulgence over the past few days wasn’t reflected in my performance; I struggled at my usual pace, feeling extra good about myself for having made the effort.

When I got home, I was confronted by the array of Christmas goodies scattered across my kitchen counter; an opened gift box brimming with home-made candies, a chocolate orange, a Ziploc bag of my Dad’s caramel corn, the remains of a late-night cookie tray, candy canes and my absolute favorite, the last few slices of yesterday’s Christmas Stollen. At the gym I had vowed I was done with goodies for the next few days, but I just couldn’t resist. I grabbed a plate, peeled back the plastic wrap and helped myself to a couple of slices to enjoy with my second cup of coffee.

Of all the Christmas traditions I carry on for my family, baking and most of all eating stollen on Christmas morning is my absolute favorite. The sweet, yeasty, fruity, frosted bread sliced thin and smeared with butter is what I look forward to the most. Over the years I’ve tried a variety of recipes, finally settling on one my mother recommended from the Betty Crocker cookbook she gave me for Christmas in 1976. Every year I worry that perhaps my yeast will be too old and that it won’t rise and then that I will under bake it and it will be too doughy or over bake it and it will be too dry. I put a great deal of pressure on myself; that’s just how important the stollen is. But, despite my worrying, each year it turns out just fine and again we have tasty bread to munch on while we open our gifts.

I can’t remember a Christmas morning without stolen and hope I’ll never have one in the future. In a way, it is our family Christmas communion; linking generations past to generations present. Even when we’re not able to be together on Christmas, just knowing that we’re all eating stollen keeps us bound as family.

So thanks Mom and to all the grandmothers before you who have mixed, kneaded and baked stollen through the years to give our family something special to munch on as we surround the tree on Christmas morning year after year. It is in itself one of the greatest gift of all.

December 17, 2013

We’re All Mega Winners

lottery ticket This morning’s big news story centers around the droves of people plunking down hard-earned cash for the chance of winning the Mega Lottery prize in excess of $550 million dollars. The dream of striking it rich and having all life’s problems disappear is a major motivator for giving up what you already have in hopes of making the dream a reality.

Years ago, when the Virginia Lottery first started, Dave and I bought a ticket every week, playing our birthdays and the anniversaries of our first date and wedding. They were lucky days for us, so it only seemed natural that all six dates combined would provide us with exponential luck. It was several weeks before a winner was announced and when it was, it turned out to be someone I knew. After that point I figured the chances of my winning the lottery after an acquaintance of mine had were astronomical so we quit buying the tickets.

I have to admit that in the current frenzy and rush for the convenience store I have been tempted to get in line myself but I have way too many items on my “to do” list that have to be ticked off today that I’m not about to drop it all to buy a chance on what Thomas Jefferson referred as “a wonderful thing; {laying} taxation only on the willing.” Today I am not willing.

Aside from having a great deal to accomplish today, I can’t really see the value in adding $550 million dollars (give or take) to my life will net any improvements. I saw what happened to my friend when her family won a mere $7.6 million and it wasn’t pretty. Suddenly they were inundated with requests from long-lost relatives and strangers all wanting to share in the pot. The hounding became so bad that one day they packed a few bags, locked their door behind them, left and never came back.

Today, as I think about it, I realize that our numbers were winners. Dave’s, Maggie’s and Andy’s and my birthdays along with the anniversaries of our first date and wedding were all winning days and combined have brought not luck but exponential joy to us that mere money could never replace.

So, during this season of family, friends and reflection, let’s all look back at what we already have and hold dear and consider that in some way, either large or small, we’ve all been mega winners. And, while the size of the prizes may vary, in most cases it has been the perfect size for you.

December 9, 2013

Advent Joy

advent wreatj Every year in the weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas, I convince myself that this year will be different. I make mental lists of what preparations I will make and those I will let fall by the wayside. My thought is to streamline the festivities into something to be celebrated and enjoyed versus a month-long gauntlet of lists, chores and errands that are tiring and joy steeling. In the early days, I try my best to remember that we are in the season of Advent, not Christmas, and dutifully pick up a devotional booklet from church, fully intending to read the blurb every morning to start my day off on the right foot. More times than not I get started but peeter off somewhere in the second week. This year, I never got started. In fact I just found the booklet under a pile of junk mail and free mailing labels and was reminded that we are into the second week of Advent and I haven’t even turned a page. So I opened the book this morning and today’s reading was entitled, “You are forgiven.” and it made me smile.

I am in joyful awe of God’s sense of humor, or perhaps that I see things in my life that I can interpret as God’s poking me in the ribs. I love to tease, be teased and laugh at the silliness of life. I use humor as a way of connecting with people; to break down walls and get inside. I believe that is what the All-Knowing does with me. In fact, my first real encounter with the Almighty resulted in laughter.

As Jesus entered the world in a stable, God entered my world in a ladies’ room. It was Easter Saturday, 1975 and I was visiting Dave at his parents’ home in Mechanicsburg. Dave and I had been invited to join a high-school friend of his and his girlfriend to go down to Maryland to hear a friend’s band play at a church. All we knew about them was they were a “Jesus band”. In those days, the word Christian wasn’t tossed around as casually as it is today, folks who prayed in a Pentecostal manner invoking the Holy Spirit were called charismatics or “Jesus freaks”. And so it came to be that Dave and I attended a Pentecostal prayer meeting; with a band on Easter Saturday 1975.

The meeting started okay. At that time my experience of worship services outside the Catholic mass were limited to one Lutheran service and a charismatic Catholic prayer service I’d attended with friends. The lack of familiar structure in the meeting made me a little uncomfortable as did the speaking in tongues. I’d witnessed that before and found it intriguing. But, when one of the members of the group rose to her feet and began to interpret the prayers and it seemed directed to Dave and me, I’d reached my limit and exited the church as quickly as I could, heading straight back to where the car was parked. Dave joined me in the parking lot followed by the couple we rode with. Since I was so totally unhinged by what had happened, we decided to head on back home. But before we hit the road, we decided to use the restrooms.

By the time we reentered the building, the service had ended. Down in the social hall, near where the restrooms were located, a table of refreshments sat loaded with cookies and cakes. With my head lowered, unwilling to make eye-contact with anyone, I found my way to the ladies’ room. Once locked in the comfort of my stall, I felt safe and secure. That’s when it hit me.

You could call it hysteria, but I remember it as something very different. Suddenly all the stress and discomfort I’d been feeling left my body. As I sat, with my pants around my ankles I began to smile and then laugh whole heartedly. What was there to be afraid of? I couldn’t think of anything, but I kept laughing; mostly at myself. There was nothing left to do but pull up my pants and enjoy some punch and cookies with the rest of them. I’m not sure exactly what happened to Dave, but he was laughing too. In fact, the whole ride home we laughed and giggled.

Something in us changed that night, although it took years to grow and mature. Like most “mountain-top” experiences, we eventually drifted back down to sea level and went on with our lives. I will always remember that night so long ago, when God met me in the ladies’ room and tickled my soul for the first time. He knew just how to reach me; in a place where there was nothing else to distract my attention. Maybe the reason I thought of it today is because this time of year there are so many things to distract me. I’m glad that when I do finally sit down and pay attention that God’s not keeping track of my inattentiveness. Instead, I know when I come back he will again tickle my soul and tell me, “You are forgiven.”

December 3, 2013

Bed Checking

Three weeks have passed since our foster kittens, Cayla and Ally have joined our household. After the first few days, we fell into a routine of feedings and playtime that suited us all very well. In the past week I’ve noticed that they aren’t the babies they were when they first arrived so I’ve been extending their time out and have broadened their allowed spaces as I feel appropriate. Cayla especially has proven to have a good working knowledge of the house, running up and down the stairs to use not only their smaller litter box but climbing up over the side of the large plastic container I have for Izzie and Purrl in the laundry room. Free from fear that I will find a small pile or puddle on the carpet, I’ve let my guard down on having to know their constant coordinates.

Last night when it was time to head upstairs for the night, Cayla was curled up on my lap. After a couple of hours of romping she had settled in with me about an hour before, helping me with my latest knitting project by pulling plenty of yarn from the skein to reduce drag. I drew her to my chest as I lowered the footrest on my Lazyboy and began to look for her sister. Ally was not readily visible. Dave and I began by checking her usual favorite spots and not finding her began a whole house search for the missing kitten. After fifteen minutes of searching, I sent Dave to bed and decided to sit up for our errant young lady.

It’s been many years since I’ve sat vigil for a young one not home at bedtime. When Maggie and Andy were in high school, the curfew Virginia Beach imposed on minors under eighteen saved my beauty rest by requiring they be home by 11:00 PM. One the magic age of 19 was reached and they were home from college for the summer and holidays, all bets were off. Theoretically they could come and go as they pleased, whether it pleased me or not. There is nothing so precious to me as family and the fear of losing them was immense. Consequently I spent many a night waiting up for them, haunted by the ghosts of college-years past and the frightening possibilities of my own imagination. While attending a church conference I once heard this referred to as “a dark night of the soul”; a time when we feel so powerless and vulnerable that we allow ourselves to be overtaken by the darkness. It is not a good place to be.

Eventually they would arrive home safely and after it became clear that they were not impressed by my impression of a worry struck mother, I elected to scurry myself off to bed before they hit the front door. Whether I was there to great them or not, the result was the same; I lost sleep and paid dearly for it the next day.

After many long talks with myself, I resolved that I needed to stop these late night vigils. Like it or not, my children were young adults and free to live their own lives. My role had changed from protector to assistant; if they needed me, they knew they could call me and if they called me, I’d be in a whole lot better shape to help them if I were awakened from a sound sleep than if I’d been sitting in the dark, pumped up on adrenalin and fear. So, I started putting myself to bed at my regular time whether the kids were home or not. It wasn’t easy, but it was practical and I am a practical girl. That doesn’t mean I didn’t do the occasional bed check when I got up to use the bathroom, but for the most part I slept better and thankfully never received that call. I worked at ‘practicing’ my faith and really learned what it meant to rest in the Lord. Instead of giving into my lack of power, I called upon the all-powerful to light up my darkness and it worked.

So last night, I was sitting vigil again for a un-locatable kitten. After an hour of waiting for her to come scampering through the room, I gave up and went to bed. I decided to leave a portion of the playpen’s lid unzipped so Ally could slip in when she found her way upstairs. I can’t say I fell asleep quickly; there were too many mental images of kittens trapped in closets or cupboards or worse yet, lying dead in a corner after biting into an electrical chord with little black x’s over their eyelids. I said a couple of prayers for my lost kitty and eventually fell asleep. I did a bed check around 4:00 AM when I went to the bathroom but she hadn’t returned. Deja vu.

This morning Dave and I did our usual three cycles with the sleep mode on the alarm clock. As is her custom, Izzie marched in and across our bed to let us know it was indeed morning and time to get up and let her out. Unhappy at being ignored, she chased Purrl out of the room a couple of times until she was satisfied we were getting up.

I got up slowly, pushed my feet into my slippers and grabbed my robe from the closet door. I headed for the kitten’s room, hoping against all hope that Ally would be there and she was. I scooped her up, gave her a kiss and unceremoniously slid her through the slit in the screen into her playpen. Cayla greeted her with a throw down to the mat and bite behind the ear and all was set right.

As for me, I sat down and wrote this out as fast as I could. Now I could really use a cup of coffee; it’s going to be a long day.