About Life

You know, when it comes down to it, life is just. . .life.

Betty Miller [you know, Lester Financial Guy's widow; if she's done a ladies' retreat at your church you are still doing Betty imitations ten years later] once said, at a ladies' retreat where she and I both spoke, that joy and sorrow travel on parallel tracks and arrive at the same time.

I would amend that to say that I seem to live where about a dozen tracks converge, and I have stuff coming at me all the time, from all directions. Wonderful stuff, terrible stuff, and in between, and I keep waiting for life to decide to be simply good or bad, but it won't cooperate.

So I finally finally came home from my travels, on a warm and sunny evening, and the daffodils are blooming like you never saw daffodils bloom in your life, and the grass is green and thick, and the cherry tree is blooming, and the children have grown another inch apiece it seems, except for Amy who doesn't grow any more but has more influence per cubic inch than most of us ever will.

But--is Amy so busy at school and helping me that she doesn't really have a life? And why is she so quiet? And is her heart being quietly broken by some anonymous young man but she won't talk about it?

Meanwhile in Colorado Emily got sick and has been down for almost a week, and I have a sick sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, because I am reliving the past year and a half in my mind, and what if this means Colorado isn't going to work for her, and we really don't have contingency plans for if she gets sick and stays sick, and sometimes I think the uncertainties and raised/dashed hopes of her life are going to drive me to insanity.

[But, as Emily herself said, going crazy is a lot harder than it sounds.]

But meanwhile I have children who are just plain thriving. Ben and Steven are entered in various events in next week's student convention--running, basketball, singing, trivia, and so on. And Jenny continues to grasp life with both hands, and she also figured out a way to put Cocoa the lamb on a leash and go on walks, and it is just cute.

But now Cocoa has diarrhea and I don't know what to do.

At the same time Matt is forevermore struggling with those engineering classes, and had to put off his graduation date because he couldn't swing the one class that's a prerequisite for four others, and it's offered winter term only. And with the economy like it is, he hasn't been able to find a part-time job in his field, so he may end up sacking seed again, which will surely be the ruination of his lungs and knees.

But meanwhile Matt has been asked to speak at a couple of church events lately, and did well, and it makes me happy to have him find his voice.

And Paul is doing well at his first week of meetings. It's not standing room only, or anything, but he seems to be well received.

But I miss him. And one son in particular needs a dad pretty badly right now.

And I just got done with the final final edits on Downstairs the Queen is Knitting, which is exciting. But the other two books are tanking on Amazon.

And so on, on a dozen different fronts.

Last night I called my brother Marcus, acknowledging the fact that his son would have been 26 the day before, had he lived, and I wish I could remember what Marcus told me, because it was very comforting, and it was along the lines of, "You know, life on this earth is just what it is." Oh dear, that doesn't make much sense, does it? Well, he said more than that but more than anything it was his simply understanding how tough it can be, particularly about Emily, that had me in tears.

Today it strikes me odd that my brother, who lost a son, was comforting me, whose problems are pretty mild in comparison. He certainly had the option of saying, "Hey, be glad you just have health issues to deal with. At least you can call her up every day and talk for a while." But he didn't say that. He just acknowledged that life comes at you from all directions with both good and bad, and it's not easy, and we have something a lot better to look forward to.

Quote of the Day:
"So, is this thing called a . . . crouton??"
--anonymous friend of Ben and Steven's, settling down on the futon