Monday, October 7, 2013
Oh the Carnage
This woman has a long-standing love affair with words. They inspire me, goad me onward, enrage or entrance. I'm always looking for more of them to illustrate my life and the lives of others. Where before I used to use mostly paint to color my world, now I paint more often with words.
I've neglected my journal for the past few years, choosing instead to write novels or blog posts (I write for three blogs including this one, ANWA Founder and Friends, and Mommy Authors) or emails. But I miss being able to go to my journal to prove something. (I've actually used my journal in a court case in the past. It's interesting how much I've forgotten or remember differently.)
So I decided to hunt down my journal and start afresh at filling it with interesting tidbits. I went to the shelf where I normally keep the dusty old thing and surprise, it wasn't there.
A two-week-long odyssey ensued, in which I plundered all my bookshelves (there are many--love affair with words you remember), sacked every corner of my bedroom, pillaged whole dust bunny civilizations, and to L and J's great horror (oh the carnage) changed things around. All in search of the elusive personal history.
Through it all I kept a running commentary with my Heavenly Father, on whom I rely heavily on in these seemingly hopeless situations. After checking the same places dozens of times, my pleading began.
To no avail.
I did, however, find several interesting items (Esmeralda-the-Tooth-Fairy's decaying collection, a hat I'd forgotten about, my knitted doll shirt from my Austrian Auntie) and other more needed things I had been missing for a long time. "Huh! Look at that," I'd say, drawing an interested family member to my side. "My old glasses collection." They'd roll their eyes and escape from the lunatic sporting the layer of dust.
J was utterly horrified that I would move things around in the living room. "Dad will hate what you are doing here." I laughed. "You mean You hate what I'm doing. Come on and help me move this bookcase. Change is good." More eyeball calisthenics. It turned out he liked my moving ideas this time, and even helped me accomplish them.
Still no tome of memory.
Finally, after the dust had settled and several areas of my house were looking chipper with a new location or slightly less dense patina of dust, I ended my travails. It was Sunday, a day of rest and contemplation and I had a conference to watch.
I did, however, want to hang the laundry which I'd washed the day before--basically because when it sits in the basket for a couple of days the clothes begin to smell like sour death and unwashed dog so I have to hose it off. I was just about to hang them when a subtle little voice said to me, "If you don't hang the laundry, you will be blessed."
Now normally one would think that I was merely advocating personal laziness. It happens now and then. But when this particular indication hits my head, I sit up and listen. I'm making a habit of paying close attention, because more often than not, it's the Spirit communicating, not me.
So I merely took the baskets out to the line and came back in. The conference was starting anyway. I took copious notes until there was a break. I stood up and was going to the kitchen for a snack when I looked over at the shelves on my desk--the ones I'd emptied and checked almost every time I'd passed them.
There it was!
It sat there taunting me with my selective blindness, having been maybe two feet from my face every time I sat in this chair. The absurdity stunned me. All that time I'd spent combing every inch of my house.
I'd been schooled again.
God pays attention to heartfelt prayers, no matter how insignificant or penny ante. He has ways of encouraging us to do things that may stump or annoy us. He uses us to do His work and accomplish things so far afield that we don't understand the reasons.
So now my house is less dusty, more user-friendly, and I have found several other lost items I hadn't been praying about but still needed.
I think I'll wear my black shorts today.