Sunday evening at the Shoe

Home from the evening service. Zach the nephew came in the door not long ago, dropped off by Uncle James and Aunt Orpha who brought him down from Hubbard. Emily is at a friend's house. Paul is reading to the younger ones--The Incredible Journey at the moment. Popcorn and grape juice are being consumed, and Amy is probably in Jamaica by now, having left yesterday to go to South Carolina and join her youth group from last year on a mission trip.

The school fundraiser garage sale was yesterday. We made some money but please don't ask me if it was worthwhile for at least another week, if then. It turned out to be at least 3 times bigger than I had expected, and I was piling used clothing on tables in my dreams. I learned that garage sales are "mom" things and not a good school project, and if you ask teenage guys to put the t-shirts here and the sweatshirts over there, they are somehow unable to do this, or to distinguish either of them from sweaters, and they don't have the slightest clue how much a sandwich maker or used candle should cost. I will say that they are great at putting up signs and hauling boxes, but not at the finer things.

By last night I was so tired I couldn't see straight, and then I went to bed and woke up at 4:00 this morning and couldn't go back to sleep. I am like a two-year-old when it comes to the importance of a good night's sleep, so I found myself crying for no reason other than sheer utter tiredness in the middle of Sunday school. This was embarrassing. Thankfully lunch was in two crock pots and afterwards my nice husband cleaned up and I slept for several hours and oh how much more pleasant the world looks.

Emily went to church today, both services, start to finish, for the first time in about ten months. Glory and praise. She also helped me with the children's meeting this evening, mostly by giving me ideas for stories to tell and assuring me this was just as good as a clever craft or a story from a flip-book. "You were famous in your day for Bambam stories," she said, referring to the little neighbor guy in Weagamow Lake in Canada who used to come over and hog the swings, throw dirty water on my windows, and lots of other terrible things.

So I told stories, of my childhood and Bambam and my children, and by special request, the story of when we hit a moose and the van burned up.* And all the kids listened except the few who were poking each other in the corners. And then they got a double dose because by a strange coincidence Paul referred to the same episode in his sermon as an illustration for praising God for his deliverance. I've noticed that when Paul tells this story it's 5 degrees warmer than when I tell it, and he tells more about the trailer hooked on behind, which is now at the warehouse, and he always brings in something about insurance, which I somehow neglect to mention.

(Paul thinks insurance is a big racket and will only buy the legal minimum, which actually worked out ok when we lost the van, because 5 churches took offerings for us, enough to buy another van.)

Sundays are good.

*Full story in the last chapter of Ordinary Days.

Quote of the Day:
"I'm roasting my shorts!"
--Steven's explanation of why a cane was poking out his window and scootching around on the porch roof every few minutes the other day. He wanted to warm up his swimming trunks, which he was soon going to get wet in the creek, which of course is toasty warm from mountain-snow runoff and all.