The Story of Our Week (Oh, boy, It's a Long One)

Last week did in fact turn out to be a trying week.

On Saturday I saw that the maintenance required light that had been blinking in my van for three months had suddenly changed from blinking to solid. This was not a good sign. I had been supposed to take it in for an oil change the week that I was sick, and then we had VBS every morning, and then the weekend, so I had to trust my children to ride in a vehicle that I feared, for about five seconds, might not be safe. Michael had commented that the engine sounded different and that it seemed to lose power as he was driving only days before.

Took the van in to the shop. I would have stayed and waited for the oil change if I didn't think there was a good chance something else would have to be repaired. Got a ride home from the shop with one of their drivers and practiced my question-asking skills all three miles. It wasn't difficult as he was the kind of man who takes a question and runs with it. Nice guy.

They were able to fix it for us that day, but it cost about two-hundred dollars more than I had hoped to pay for a repair.

That evening around dinner time we failed to notice that our yellow labrador was needing to go out. Parker, my four year old, was the first to notice her peeing on the rug in the back room, which is also our laundry room. She had never had an accident in the house before. Luckily our sometimes daytime house guest was there, and he was able to tell us what to do to clean it up. After we mopped up as much as we could with towels, he poured baking soda all over the wet area to wick up the moisture. This was scraped and swept, and in the morning the residue was dry enough to clean up with the vacuum cleaner.

Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday occurred without either positive development business-wise, or negative incident. A good friend brought us dinner. Michael and I got a couple of hours out of the house to attend a short seminar. The children and I met my sister at CHOM and at the public library.

Then Friday. Ah, Friday.

Because I had felt pretty crummy all week, and our laundry room was being used for test-taking by our guest, the laundry had been piling up. In fact I hadn't even folded towels from the weekend before. As Michael left the house for play testing with Jim and errands, I finally put on a load of clothes and got the children ready to go outside.

We go outside. I see an unaccountable puddle of water streaming from the basement. It looks like it has soap in it. I walk into the basement to investigate, noticing that a lot of the moisture seems to be originating around the water heater, but there's nothing wrong with the water heater. Next thing I know, a rush of water falls from the raw ceiling above the heater. I run upstairs to see what's going on, only to find a stream of water growing out from underneath the washing machine, the wooden floor boards becoming warped around the edges. Since the load of laundry in the machine is in its final cycle, I have no choice but to let it run, even as I have a pretty good idea of what is going on below.

Michael's gone. The children are outside alone. A friend of mine is coming in a couple of hours to cut my hair.

I could drag this out and give you all the details, but the main thing that happened in the hours before my friend got there and Michael made it home from errands was that a $600 car repair that didn't bother me at the beginning of the week suddenly became a frighteningly large expense, as I contemplated the possibility of an even more expensive plumbing charge. For a moment I envisioned the floor collapsing and the siding falling off the back of the house. For a moment I couldn't help but think about the disparity between our income and expenses for the month. We're fine, but it really was a rough couple of hours alone in the house with two tired, and I do mean tired, children.

On Saturday I washed all of our dishes by hand (with help) because I was afraid that running the dishwasher would overload the plumbing. On Saturday Isaac's diaper leaked into my bed, wetting our one and only mattress pad, making the laundry situation all the more urgent. On Saturday Michael worked on the plumbing, and worked on the plumbing, and worked on the plumbing, with the benefit of some good advice from our sometimes house guest, but the problem wasn't immediately fixed. It wasn't a surprise that a plumbing issue would require a lot of trial and error, but it was still disheartening.

More help, this time from my Dad, after which the problem was solved without our having to call in the professionals, and without my having to leave the house to do laundry or grocery shopping or anything.

This was the week that I was dreading, and it turned out to contain things I never would have imagined in advance. I was glad on Saturday that it seemed to be over.

On Friday for a time I wondered why God wasn't providing for us in a more satisfying way. I wondered why the business possibilities that had come up at the beginning of the month hadn't developed into much of anything. I wondered why I had to finally get upset about the cost of the car when I had handled it so well earlier in the week.

On Saturday I remembered that we're supposed to thank God for trials. And I figured something out about the way I was supposed to pray while we wait for our financial situation to change. Maybe this is what I ought to be saying to Him (God): I know that You could provide us with an adequate stream of income any time You want. For all I know You could be planning to solve all of our employment problems tomorrow. Until You do, please just stretch what money we have and in the meantime teach me the lesson that You can be trusted with all our desires and needs.

It's a lesson I've been working on, and I have plenty of ideas about what faith and trust mean in terms of our relationship with God, that lovely old loaded term I'm also trying to cope with.

And then I started to recognize some of the blessings of the week.

My mom came to my house unexpectedly on Sunday night and cut my children's hair after which they got to run around in the sprinklers for half an hour.

A friend who will remain anonymous because I don't know whether he would want me to name him or not brought us dinner one night because I had been sick and because he wanted to do something nice for us. That dinner lasted us for two meals.

The children got a chance to use the computer games at the library because my sister was there with us, which meant that each child had their own adult giving them full attention.

Our sometimes daytime house guest was here when the dog peed on the carpet and was available with good and practical advice when the plumbing went all haywire.

The friend who cut my hair was here when I needed someone to distract me from what could have become a full on panic followed by depression as I described above.

My husband was able to solve the plumbing and problem and my parents were available to help.

We ended Saturday evening in the presence of someone Michael and I both love, who fed us yet again, and who brought the entertainment, leaving fresh vegetables and lemonade, among other things, behind.

In fact it turned out to be a rather good week.

Optimism/Pessimism

I really liked the question Tina asked the other day. What makes one person generally pessimistic, leading them to worry, and what makes another person generally optimistic such that they rarely worry about anything at all? According to the magazines guilt seems to go right along with being a mom. I would extrapolate that to mean that worry also goes right along with being a mom, but that isn't really a satisfactory explanation.

I think it has to do with personality, not that Myers-Briggs has a category to explain worry. I don't know; it might. I think I associate optimism with the sanguin or phlegmatic temperment, while pessimism I would associate with the melancholy or choleric temperment. Really, I have no idea what I'm talking about.

My intellect tells me that worry is a totally nonproductive emotion. (Is worry and emotion, like happiness or frustration?) However, it also tells me everything that can and may go wrong. I default toward trying to be prepared for the worst as a way of staving off disappointment. Why do I expect things to go wrong? Because the world is broken. These days I just try to remember what is really important (thanks to Larry Crabb and The PAPA Prayer), and that is that I avoid replacing God with anything else as the "first thing" in my life. As such, I can talk to Him about the little things that matter to me, and yet realize that even if those things go wrong (like losing my calendar, seeing my comfortable if wild yard being destroyed) I don't have to let them ruin my day. That is a very good thing.

Season's of Life That Do Not Last Forever

Last night we had a friend over for dinner. It's the first time we've done that in a while, not because we are unwilling, but mainly because we forget to invite anyone to come and eat with us. It was fun.

Whenever I'm around Ben I'm reminded of the really great hanging-out that was done during my college years. Very good memories.

On a Thursday night my friend Jenny would call me on the phone to see if I wanted to come over. Most Thursday nights I'd get to her apartment and my friends Jeremy and Steven would already be there. We'd spend the evening sitting on the floor, watching tv and conversing with whoever else might happen to come by. Usually several other people would come by. I miss those days of casual socialization.

Other favorite memories.

Sitting outside on the porch of the Chi Alpha Girl's House, either in Chanda's cool leather chair or the swing, reading, listening to music, talking to Ken about deep-seated things until 3:00 in the morning. The Spade's games that used to go on until all hours, those were not my favorite times, but sweeping off the front porch, being outside, feeling cool breezes coming in off the street, and hearing the noises of cars going by, these were some really beautiful times. I loved that kind of atmosphere, when you never knew who might show up at your door. I loved my tiny white room at the Girl's House, and the window unit (both heat and cool) that kept my personal living space snug. I have happy memories that involve Mavis coming to my room to bring me sliced apples while I worked on some huge Interior Design project, bringing them because we'd just had an argument. I miss the sort of communal living that is possible in college as it is at no other time.

Whenever I'm around Ben I'm reminded of those times.

I wish sometimes that I could foster that sort of casual communal spirit in my life as a wife and mother, but I haven't figured out yet how practically to do so. And community isn't a talent I particularly have.

Happenings, Thankings

Several things happened yesterday.

Parker and I spent the morning at my parent's house where we:

Shattered a glass pitcher on the tiled kitchen floor, and

broke the wind chime hanging from a tree in the front yard.

It was a day of destruction for Parker and me.

Yesterday afternoon, however, our next door neighbor came by the house to introduce herself, and bringing with her two dozen bran muffins. Bran muffins are absolutely my favorite kind and I hadn't had them in years. Time was when I would have picked out the raisins, but not these. They are delicious.

What nice thing can one do for an elderly couple next door, not knowing what sort of dietary restrictions they may live under?

Speaking of thanking, Mary and Danny came by the house Friday afternoon, and Danny did a lot to help Michael work out our plumbing problems. Everything is fixed now. So we're wondering, what nice thing can we do for Mary and Danny to thank them for being such good neighbors?

Pictures of Parker, and A Visit with Miss Alice

Many of you know this lady. We got to visit with her on Thursday. A good time was had by all, even though Parker wasn't up to his usual brilliant, friendly and charming standards because he was unwell.

He walked into Alice's living room, wherein he found a candle shaped like a ring of angels. It impressed us that he identified this foreign object as a candle immediately, walking up to it and sniffing away.

I wish that I could visit Alice every day. I am happy to know that I can look forward to seeing her more regularly. She in fact lives within reasonable driving distance from the Fox's soon-to-be-completed new home.

Our Missing Key or How Good He Is to Give Us Neighbors Who Love Us.

Yesterday morning Parker and I were locked out of our house. It wouldn't have happened had I not been sick the day before. Normally whenever I leave the house, even just to take Parker outside to play, I either double check to make sure I haven't automatically locked the front door knob, or I take my keys and cell phone with me. But not yesterday.

Parker was playing in the back, and I started scoping out my roofline to see what sort of roof I have. Michael's dad and I had had a discussion about this over the weekend, and I had been surprised at how difficult it was for me to remember what the roof looked like, having missed out on that portion of our home inspection. Why, oh why, did I not follow the home inspector onto the roof, or anywhere else for that matter?

I left Parker in our fenced-in back yard for a moment while I wandered around to the front of the house. While I did discover that we have a partial hip-roof, which I had previously vehemently denied, I also discovered that there was no way for us to get back into the house. Both front and back doors were locked, and we still had not gotten around to hiding a spare key anywhere on the premises.

Bad, bad luck, and me sick. Whine, complain.

First things first. We scoped out the surrounding neighborhood. No cars at Teresa's house. One car at Gavin and Amy's. Parker and I both had been ill, so I wasn't about to knock on my elderly neighbor's door. It was 9:15 in the morning, so I suspected the students across the street might not be awake. We tried the house across the street first. No answer.

We keep our stroller on the front porch these days for easy access. Fortunately for me. Unfortunately for me, not only was I wearing the wrong shoes for walking, but I was also wearing yesterday's clothes and had not yet brushed my teeth. Parker had been quite anxious to get out that morning.

I put Parker in the stroller, and we walked to the opposite end of the neighborhood. Thank you Jesus, Danny was home, and he had slept late that morning, and he had items to return to a shop right near Michael's office (plus he and Mary keep extra brand new toothbrushes at their home for when the grandchildren visit). The timing of all this was impeccable. Parker and I played in our neighbor's back yard, while he went across town to pick up our spare key.

And I got an enforced and impromptu walk that morning that did nothing to the detriment of my health. And Parker and I hopefully avoided infecting others.

All things (such very simple things) certainly worked together to our good yesterday morning.

Songs, Reminders, Things That Cannot be Communicated in Any Other Way

Here is a word picture (it isn't really a "picture," but what is it?) from one of my favorite songs ("Time Will Be the Tell") by 100 Portraits that gives me pause.

You can play the Cinic/
Oh, the insults that you could hurl/
Be the King of your opinion/
In your tiny, tiny world/
The church could be your victim/
Cross your arms and criticize/
I hope you will remember/
She is another man's wife/
She is another man's wife.

I've listened to this song today as I've thought about the fact that I once cared passionately about the health of the church (the real church, not simply the institution), the unity of the body, the purity that Christ attributes to its members. I don't care so much for those things as I once did, and consider that the root of this uncaring must be the bitterness that sets in as a result of disillusionment and injury. We are such delicate creatures. In recognizing and accepting our wounding, still we must remember that the church is the Bride of Christ--she is another man's wife.

This is not a concept I fully understand. I once lost respect for a man because of the actions of his wife. I have been critical at times when men have attributed spritual superiority to their wives against my own (admittedly external) assessment. How fortunate it is that we are not called upon to make these judgments, especially considerig I am so judgmental a creature.

Freedom and Care

For which am I more responsible:
Doing what I believe is right by exercising my own freedom in Christ, or
Being sensitive to other's weaknesses?
I think the answer will be different depending on the context. What's your guideline? When does one outweigh the other?

I notice that on my friend Jim's blog he often raises questions that he already has developed some sort of answer to. Must come from being a philosopher. I, on the other hand, do not have an answer, just vague ponderings.

Reviewing What I Wrote While Under the Influence of the Last Bottle of Wine I'll Probably Buy for a While

It is now 4:30 in the morning and I am reading all this over again because I can't go back to sleep. I notice I got a little melodramatic there near the end. These are not high and lofty things. These are every day, work day truths.

When I encounter individuals moving through my world, they become members of my life. These individuals impact me for good or for ill--rarely do I come across anyone whose effect is purely neutral--and of course the same is true of the effect I have on them. It's like the interaction between me and the plants I do or do not water. When I give them water, they have the opportunity to grow. When I do not give them water, in most cases I not only deny them the opportunity to grow, but I actually deny them the opportunity to go on living in good health.

I'm mentally floating around an idea here that is very difficult clearly to describe. The impact individuals in my life have on me is subtle--sometimes it is purely internal, and can easily go unnoticed by anyone but God. They adjust my attitudes in simple ways, they widen my awareness.

What all of this should lead me to is the knowledge that I must bathe my every day, moment, action and interaction in prayer and in scripture. It would be so nice if I could figure out exactly what this would look like. Prayer is an activity I probably misunderstand, misuse, and too often neglect.

Let's see what other kind of intellectual morass I can get myself into at 4:45 in the morning.

How Much Does It Mean to Know That Others Care?

A woman of my acquaintance asked me how I was this morning. She was in fact interested in knowing whether or not I had recovered from my illness of the week before. I cannot tell you how nice it was to know that someone in the world, other than my family, was interested in my recovery from sickness. This meant the world to me and I realized what a difference it makes when you let others know when you are ill. One friend brought me food; another asked me how I was--both events made me feel as though I were loved. While I have been loved before, I must admit that this form of community is a new experience for me. A dear friend once brought me a snack while I labored under an undergraduate deadline; I begin to understand what that variety of care feels like once again.

Relationships: I Become More and More Convinced That They Are the Most Important Things

This morning in church I realized that, if I want to have relationships, I shall have to pursue them. I also noted that relationships are important to me. I want to become more aware of the ways in which people are brought into my life. I want to be more purposeful in the way that I pursue them. This point was carried home within the context of the Bible study I attended just this evening.

I figure that the moment I acknowledge an individual's presence in my life, I should see this as a sign that the Holy Spirit desires to act through me in some way. After all, my acquaintances fall under my sphere of influence as Stephen Covey would describe things.

I had a gift to take to a young woman in my church who recently had had a baby. As I contemplated my desire to visit her in the hospital, I became aware that I was acquainted with a nurse who worked delivery, and that she herself would be expecting her own baby at any time. This nurse had been a classmate of mine in high school. She and I were never close, in fact we were not even friends, but my feeling toward her had changed since Parker came into my world. Parker has changed all sorts of things, which is part and parcel of his status as a gift from God. I had a gift to give to her as well.

I wrote this nurse a card in which I told her that if she ever needed to talk she could phone me. I told her that complaints were welcome, as I know from my own experience that sometimes you simply need someone to talk to when times are hard. Sometimes you need someone to whine to other than your husband. I was fortunate in that I had such a friend, after Parker was born, and I have long desired to continue to be such a friend to others who are in need. Unfortunately you only rarely come across anyone who will take you up on such an offer. I myself am guilty of ignoring the offers of those who have reached out to me. Perhaps I should contact these saints and beg of them their forgiveness.

Perhaps I shall as I become more and more convicted of these things. But it is late.

Past Time Photos of Parker Were Posted

I haven't posted any pictures of Parker in a while, so here are a few to bring you up to date. He had a great time this morning playing with his friend Joshua. Joshua and his mother got to spend several hours with us this morning and we all had a lot of fun. I love how having a friend in the house makes me a more responsible mother. We played in the yard as we never can when it's just the two of us. I made chicken pasta salad for lunch, when I could have chosen to watch tv or read while he was napping instead. Parker wouldn't eat any of the food I made but at least it was available to him, my friend enjoyed it, and the kitchen got cleaned up to boot. Sometimes I wish I could have a friend over every day.

Coffee Means?

I've been meaning to post something on the philosophical implications of coffee for some time now, but I can't seem to wrap my brain around any concrete thoughts on the subject.

I started the conversation with Anna Grace a couple of weeks ago.

"Why do you drink coffee?" I asked her.

I would try to paraphrase her answer, but I didn't get her permission (which is just an excuse because really, I'm not very good at paraphrasing). Basically, she started drinking coffee on a trip in Costa Rica. The coffee smelled so good, and really was so delicious that she enjoyed drinking it for the first time ever. In Costa Rica, it seems, they drink it very strong, and very sweet. Her further answers are her own, so I'll leave those to her in the comments section of this post, where I hope I can get a conversation going. (Anna, you can direct any complaints concerning the violation of your privacy to my self-publishing compliancy officer, in other words, email me.)

I drink coffee because I like the way it tastes, but also because it seems to have some sort of symbolic meaning.

I tried to explain to Anna that the drinking of coffee is a social act even when its social aspect is removed, except that doesn't really make any sense. All I know is that I drink a cup of coffee in the morning, not because I'm addicted to the caffeine, but because there is something I like about the act of drinking coffee.

Is it a club, like my sister suggested? Does the way you take your coffee confer any particular status? I like coffee because I like it, but I also seem to like some image of myself drinking coffee.

Does anyone out there know what I'm trying to say better than I do?

Confession

Sunday night I walked into my friend's home for the very first time, and I was able to express my enthusiasm loudly, and without reserve. I don't usually feel so free, nor so immediately at home. I came home from the bible study that night full of excitement, but also with an ugly realization.

I see that I am very self-centered right now. There are modes of expression open to me at this time that rarely have been open before, and so I find myself talking a lot. Some of it is really worth-while, some of it is vainglorious, and some of it has to do with the fact that I am feeling connected at an unprecedented level.

These are good things over all, but I make this confession because I realize that it will take some time for me to balance listening and questioning with stating.

I worried about this, casually, for about half-an-hour, and then I realized that if I confess it, it will be that much easier to achieve an appropriate level of perspective.

On a related subject: I have not enjoyed a group of women so much since Becky Suarez invited me into her Bible Study when I was a Freshman in college.