On Houses and Dreams

Yesterday was a disheartening day. It was all I could do to edit what I'd already written. I had a headache and some problems I felt were insurmountable.
Today, however, the sun has slanted its rays into the dark corners of my mind and those problems seem manageable with the help of my Eternal Best Friend.

Today my son and I were fantasizing about the kind of house we would love to have someday. Mine had gables and turrets and Victorian gingerbread. It was a rambling house full of rooms quite like the house in which I lived when I was a foster mom for delinquent girls. That house had ten bedrooms and crannies I never even saw. It was amazing! My dream house would, perhaps, be a little less run down, but the serendipity of it would be there. I want to go around a corner and say, "Oh! Where did this room come from? I never noticed that before!"

I would love to have my computer perched in the top of a tower so that I can look out into the huge trees lining the street. (I'm remembering my friend's house which was actually a working mortuary. Her room was a tower. It was sa-weet! I can just see those gorgeous trees all fiery with autumn leaves.)

My youngest son's house mostly had to do with his magnificent tree house in the back yard. He even specified that it should be a huge old oak or a rowen. It should have a round floor, which wraps around the tree. There should be a balcony and a concealable ladder. He wants crenelations so he can shoot people with his nerf guns and they can't get him. I hope that we can make this dream come true at least a little, before he gets too old to appreciate it. Most of the trees around here are scrawny and full of needle-sharp spikes.

Now my mind is working on this dream for my son. He has mentioned it before--this wish for a tree house. I've got to at least find him a giant spool and some 'found' lumber so he can build it himself. I think that would really teach him that he has to actually do something if he wants his dreams to come to fruition.

Maybe I should remember that as well. No dreamer's dream ever came true if they only slept there dreaming.

Tender Mercies and Easter Eggs

As my youngest and I walk to school together we talk about a wide variety of subjects. Today we were discussing God. My son has a friend who, at the tender age of 12, has decided that he is an atheist. I told my son that to decide that without any proof is absurd.

God shows me that He is there and He cares about me on a daily basis. I look for those tender mercies. It is always evident to me that it wasn't a coincidence--ever. One can look anywhere and see something which man cannot make, and coincidence cannot explain.

Sure there is evidence to support the Big Bang. There is also evidence to support the Big Crunch and String Theory. So what. Is God probably sitting in some tiny workshop somewhere putting things together like Legos? Probably not. Who is to say what processes he uses? Who is to say what chain reactions he sets into play and how far back in history?

So today I found that I really had to go to the bathroom. It was getting to be a pressing situation. I had already dropped off the boy and started back and I was wondering how I was ever going to make it home intact. So I had a little chat with God. I asked him to help me make it home in one piece.
He said, "Why don't you turn around and go at school?"
"'Cause it's back there and I'm already on the way home."
"Then go at the CPA's office."
"But I've never been in there. How do I even know it's open? Why would they let a stranger come in and use their potty?"
"Have faith."

So I did. The office was not only open, but the nicest receptionist on the planet showed the way to the Room of Comfort and Great Relief. When I came out, ready to be human again, I told her she was my new best friend; she commiserated with me about the woes of walking.

As I was leaving the office, I put my headphones back on. I never use them on the way to school, so I can talk to my children. On the way home, however, I use them to set a good pace. I have a fairly wide variety of music on my MP3 player--anywhere from Drop-kick Murphys to hymns to Skillet. I turned on my MP3 and just as if God were speaking to me through my headphones, I heard the Leahys sing, "I am yours and you are mine." The song went on to say that He loved me and considered me His follower. I tell you that I felt it with the force of a gale in my soul. As I trudged through the desert, tears were streaming down my cheeks with the knowledge that He loves me enough to consider me His follower. He loves me enough to answer the prayers over silly little things that might not matter to other people.

Then, when I had calmed down a little, a Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young song came on. "I am yours. You are mine. You are what you are." So just in case I missed it the first time, there was another message nearly identical to the first, done by completely different bands.

It reminded me of a Dr. Who episode called, "Weeping Angels' in which the Doctor leaves Sally Sparrow 'easter eggs' (embedded messages one must search for) on a bunch of the DVD's she owns. The whole concept is delicious. I love that episode. My MP3 song thing is just like the Easter eggs left for Sally Sparrow. It's another of the millions of ways God can use simple things to bring across His messages.

I am in awe that God can and does manage such magnificent weaving of myriad time lines, even though we all have our free agency to choose what we will do or not do. Still He accomplishes His works. The scope of it boggles the mind! Each little sparrow knows the touch of His hand as it fills the measure of its creation. Each spider, as it weaves its web; each dolphin as it sports in the waves; all follow His pattern. Each water molecule and graphite nanotube has a pattern and a course to follow.

How can I not?