Thursday, October 28, 2010

Everyday Miracles

This has been a not-so-bad day. Not a thrilling mental health day full of accomplishments, but a nice day. I got up early and had an appointment at the salon in Niles for an uncomfortable facial procedure that makes me have beautiful brows and look like less of a billy goat. I talked a bit with my little sister, then helped my mom clean my old church, got some Taco Bell (where I ran into an old boyfriend, if you can call them boyfriends when you're 13), and went to an antique mall. I then talked with my little sister a bit more, left to get gas for my car, and drove home. This evening was the preview performance for our son's marching band state finals. My mom and sister came with my sister's friend, Steve's parents and sister came, and our other two kids were there with us so we basically took up the entire top row, and I took a video of the whole thing. Then we had the yearly soup dinner and slide show of the marching band year in review.

This evening, upon bedtime (which is when most crises occur at our home, I find), said marching band son asked if I had seen his envelope. When I inquired to which envelope he was referring, he answered nervously that it was the manila envelope that held all of his fundraiser money for choir. $200+ of fundraiser money. I had not seen it. The last time I saw it, I'd put his fundraiser box on the stairs leading to his room, and it was in the box. We looked all over the house, to no avail. I let the dogs out and finished watching an episode of "Rules of Engagement" on DVD with Steve, who instantaneously fell asleep the moment it was over. Seriously. Click, zzzz. Anyway, I digress. I sent up a "hey, can you help us find my son's money" prayer, and went back out to let the dogs in and lock up. I turned on the living room light and did a scan of the room for the envelope. Nada. As I reached up to turn off the light, in the split second before I switched it off, I caught a glimpse of about one inch of manila across the room, on the floor, behind the computer desk, behind the video camera. I walked across the room and that's exactly what it was. I took it down to Zach and he exclaimed, "Oh, thank GOD!" and I said, "Yes. Exactly what we should do!" and told him the story. He couldn't believe it. None of us remember it being anywhere near the computer.

Everyday miracles.

I think we take things like this for granted entirely too often. I'm not saying that God picked up the envelope and put it there for safekeeping or anything, but what are the odds of finding it somewhere like that? One inch of manila sticking out, after having given up finding it, and right after a shout out to the Big Guy? It's things like this that make me happy, because I know He's listening. Call it fate or luck or whatever you want. Believing is a choice, and it's a choice that I've made.

I have to say that I adore my friend Andie. She was writing about how much we can do for someone in another country with just a little amount of our own money. How one thing like an Xbox, for us, could mean a year's worth of food for a couple of children somewhere across the planet. Andie struggles with her family's finances at least as much as I do with ours, yet she still has that instinct inside of her to give, to help, to do whatever she can for someone else, because she knows (like I do) that no matter how bad we have it here, no matter how often we live paycheck-to-paycheck, or how much debt we have, or how many times our car breaks down, or our hours are cut at work... so many people have it worse than we do. Her compassion and her heart make me proud of her, proud that I know her and proud that she calls me a friend. We need more people in the world like Andie.

I'm 94 pages into my short story/poetry collection. I want to add another couple of stories, but I can't find anything in my 'archives' that I like enough, so I'm going to have to write some more. Not that this is a problem, I've just been busier again the past week. Plus, I have a small lack of inspiration when I get to this point in putting a project together. It's like the 2/3 wall. 2/3 of the way through the day at work, I usually hit a wall where I start to get agitated that I'm still at work, my stomach's grumbling for food, and I'm cranky. I get that way 2/3 of the way through writing, or putting something together, too. That's where I'm at right now. I want another 50 pages at least, and I'm cranky and I'm tired and I want it to be over. I want to finally get something out there, hope people like it, and make some money from it.

I'm random tonight, I know. This is nice, typing in the evening, because then I can get all my feelings and thoughts out and try to sleep afterwards. Or play solitaire. I heart this computer, did I mention that?

I got a wee bit misty-eyed watching the slide show tonight. Four years of marching band, and Zachary is so grown up now. He's six feet tall, very handsome. He's saving so much money towards a car and college, working every day before his classes and in the evenings sometimes, much more organized than he ever was before. I worry that he's not ready for college, but I don't think any kid is ever fully ready for college when they first go. I wasn't. I had never been away from my parents for more than two days in a row when I left for college! I had a three year old sister at home, a dying grandmother, and I moved three and a half hours away and took full time classes and worked part time and cleaned houses to pay for my books and put money towards all the other expenses. I was definitely not ready. I didn't listen to my academic adviser, so I took physics and calculus at the same time (neither of which I should have taken at all), and ended up on academic probation after my first semester. Luckily, by the end of the four years, I was more than ready and graduated .1 away from an honors GPA. I know he might not be ready when he goes, but he's got two parents that love him and care for him and will be there for him in a heartbeat whenever he needs us.

I've noticed that so many of the stories I write have insomnia laced throughout. Hmm. Wonder why?

Let's see if I can get some sleep, no?


No comments:

Post a Comment