Jesus is my co-pilot?

Jesus is my co-pilot?

It seems completely audacious to state that I think God manipulated my schedule, my responsibilities, my commitments…but darn it, it can be read that way.

I was staring down a hard, busy, week.  Big project due at work on Friday, Eating Liturgically “grand opening” on Sunday (so much content to get up there.  So.  Much.), church meetings, and taking down Thanksgiving and putting up Advent and that darn Elf to work out and…a lot.

So, I did what I dinstinctly should not have done yesterday, and I took the day off.  I mean, I taught my morning Jazzercise class, and then I took a shower…and then I made nachos…and then I sat down on the couch to watch one epidode of Mr. Robot before logging in to work (I work from home on Mondays).  Which turned into two episodes.  Which evolved into a nap on the couch.  When my phone alarms went off to go get the boys, I got them, and then sat right back down on that couch.

Not good.  Not good at all.

I checked e-mail Monday night, and not one person e-mailed me at work.  Not one.  So I figured I’d come clean to my direct supervisor tomorrow, put in extra hours this week if I needed to, but I simply would have to get my rear in gear today, Tuesday.

And I couldn’t sleep with the stress of it.  So, I prayed.  God, I said, I can’t.  I just can’t.  I know I should be askign for strength, and trusting, and all that good stuff, but I just can’t.

It wasn’t my best prayer.  Kinda whiny-pants, actually.

Yet, even.  I got to work today…and the big project has been postponed until FEBRUARY.  I’m 80% done already, and it’s not due until February!  “I hope you didn’t spend all day yesterday on it,” says my supervisor, at which point I say, “ahem” and come clean and she laughs and says “good!  You deserve a day off – anytime you need, just do it – you always get the work done.  Just…drop me a text next time.” Phew! (Note to reading audience – I’m paid hourly and I make my own hours – if I want a day, they will gladly not pay me as much, you know?)

And then, I hustle home to walk the dog and get the kids and get to my meeting…which I check my e-mail before I go and it’s canceled!

Hey, God? I say.  Um…thanks!  I, um, what can I do for you now?

So, I wrote an e-mail to my confirmation mentee (I’m her mentor – what would she be called?) about Advent and joyful expectation, and how it’s actually kind of hard to be in a consistent state of joyful anything, let alone expectation, and what does she think about Advent?  And that felt good.

And I planned out when and how I would get Eating Liturgically ready.  And that felt good.

So, audacious and I don’t know how this all works.  I just feel…taken care of.


How I sick

How I sick

We’re all getting over being sick.  And by “all” I mean Andrew and myself, although both kids have been cranky and coughing for the past few weeks, so maybe them too.

It’s hard to tell with them.  If they don’t have fevers, I watch their behaviors.  Words are no help – Isaac doesn’t have the skills to say how he’s doing, and Kai has so many words but not quite enough experience to pick the right one.  “My throat hurts,” he’ll say which sounds promising, but then he follows with, “which is why I have EXTRA energy today!” and then it’s all meaningless.

A first, with this bout of illness.  I was laying on the couch, eyes closed, trying to cat nap while Sponge Bob blared on the TV, Kai talked loudly to his new imaginary friend, San Fawango, and Isaac stimmed while pacing in an oval in front of the couch.  Isaac bent over my face, and said, “Mommy’s sick.” He was just repeating what I’d been telling him all day, and I expected him to then ask for sausage or Cheerios or anything as long as I got up and started acting like Mommy again…but instead he leaned in close, and kissed my forehead.  Then he went back to his oval.

This means my autistic tween has officially been the nicest to me when I’m sick than anyone in my household.

Okay, this is not entirely fair to Andrew.  The problem is that Andrew and I “sick” differently.  Andrew keeps going until he truly cannot without passing out, and then he holes up in our room, in the dark, and sleeps until he is well enough to keep going again.  He does not want tea, or soup, or sympathy.  He wants to keep going, and then sleep in a dark hole, and then keep going some more.

I want to rest.  I want to put my feet up with tea and a book or TV.  If I have to be sick, I at least want to enjoy “not working”.  I want people when they walk by to say “how are you doing, sweetheart?” and me to say “a little better” or “the same” and then they should offer to bring me tea or soup.  I want to keep my days and my nights separate – awake but resting during the day, sleeping at night for my usual sleeping time.

I’m not saying my way is better.  It’s just what I want to do when I”m sick.

The problem is, Kai certainly and Andrew subconsciously feel that if I am awake during the day, then I am well enough to keep going.  In order to get the rest I need, I feel like I have to hole up in our room, in the dark, alone, and I don’t want to do that…but if I”m on the couch, awake, I’m signaling to half my family that I’m available.  I should be capable of emptying the dishwasher, or making snacks.

But my Isaac.  He gets it.  Mommy’s sick = kiss on forehead, and leave alone.  At least I have one on my side.

Morning Routine Moment

Morning Routine Moment


I currently start each day the same way.

Alarm #1 goes off.  I turn it off and get back in bed.  I lie on my back and put my hand over my heart and acknowledge that I am already stressed.  My heart rate is already elevated, cortisol is already coursing through my bloodstream, the weight of the world is coming down on me and before I have even begun I have already failed.

Then I pray.  It goes something like this, “Hi, God, it’s me again.  Good morning.  I don’t have the strength to do all the work you have given me to do. Wait, is it all from you? Or did I take on some without realizing it? Whatever, this? This isn’t gonna happen on my strength alone. But I can do anything through your strength, so let’s take some deep breaths together and remind my body I’m not alone in this, okay? A-men.”

Then I breathe. I listen to the birds outside. Sometimes to Isaac in his room waiting for his clock to turn yellow.  Sometimes Andrew stirs and puts an arm over me. Sometimes I stay awake and sometimes I drift back into sleep.

But when the second alarm (#2) goes off 15 minutes later, my hand is still over my heart, I am breathing calmly, and I feel I can face this new day.

Know thyself, am I right?