I've Always Hated Math

I'm at work. Doing my job. And doing it very well. (Except for right now, when I'm not doing it at all.) If I answer the phone, I will be the most cheerful person you've ever encountered in. your. life. Making you laugh is my personal goal. And I'm 97% successful (no tax dollars were spent researching the actual percentage.)

But today, after I hang up the phone after making another grumbly contractor chuckle, I am tired.

I'm tired of trying. I'm tired of the charade. I'm tired of being the one making someone else laugh instead of being the one made to laugh. And I'm tired of freezing my buns off as I stand in front of the AC unit downstairs as I let it blow away my tears and red-tinged face without leaving behind all the little fuzzies that tissues do in their own tattle-tale way.

I'm tired of exes. I'm tired of critical eyes doubting my every move before they're even made. I'm tired of not being worth it. I'm tired of being pulled in two different directions. I'm tired of asking "why?" And even more tired of asking "why not?"

Just this last Monday, I was given a gift - my son was sick. And I accepted that gift with a fervor that most would raise an eyebrow to, at best, and report to the authorities, at worst. I stayed home with him...all...day. I got to enjoy holding his limp little body as he milked the attention for all it was worth. I got to watch TV with him. And as he started feeling better, I got to watch his imagination turn him into the greatest ninja the New World has ever known. And what do you do with a ninja of that magnitude? You take him to McDonald's for lunch. And suddenly I became the greatest mom the New World has ever known.

This day; this "sick" day; this day that my heart drank down like the chocolate milk Eric had with his happy meal...made me tired...of work. Of having to choose an 8-5 over my 6.5 year old. And I am still grieving the loss of those hours in every day.

Fourteen months ago, I met someone who I decided I wanted in my life. And our lives and identities slowly began weaving together. And I was learning new things about fishing, about camping, about plastic bags, about him.

About his fear of & hesitation about marriage.

And the cruel irony in this situation makes me...well, it makes me a lot of things, but we'll just stick with tired. I'm tired of being the one who still believes in love. I'm tired of working so hard at something that makes me work that hard in the first place. I'm tired of being convenient. I'm tired of frequently resisting the urge to use my "but look what I'VE been through" card. I'm tired of feeling like I make mistakes instead of decisions.

And I am tired of being told "I love you, but..." because in language math, Iloveyou + but = 0.

This just isn't right.

I've always hated math. This doesn't help.

There is a little girl inside me, in high heels 5 sizes too big, in a hand-me-down flower girl dress, swaying from side-to-side in front of a full-length mirror, dreaming about the day when some boy will be as excited about sweeping her off her feet as she is about being swept away.

And I made the epic mistake of "liking" a page on FB entitled "How He Asked". Oh yes, it is exactly what you think it is. In my defense, it was a by-product of my infatuation with designing wedding invitations, and you KNOW how that Google search snowballs. And now I have wedding invitations, engagement rings, and gown ads haunting my every move on the world-wide web. So. much. fun.

But, what is interesting about this site, is that often times, the groom-to-be gives his side of the story. And I don't care how many I read, I will never cease to find myself sitting, mouth agape, reading the excitement, enthusiasm, and optimism pouring out of these sweet, naive, romantic males. I hope they can hold on to that forever...their wives will never tire of it.

Heh. A perfect side-note for my entry: an area manager in one of our other offices just told MY area manager (boss) how nice it is to call our office because of ME. See? I'm good.

And tired.

Seasons of the Heart: Fall(ing Down)

F***.

No, not that "f" word.

I meant...fall.

You're gonna make me say it out loud, aren't you?

Oh, all right. FALL.

And to me, and the thin appendages at the end of each arm and leg, that...is a four-letter word. And now that's it's September in Idaho, it's beginning to offend me. These 40-50 degree nights have come as an unwelcome, uncomfortable shift in the seasons...and in my mood. It's an awkward place between shorts and pants, iced or hot, holding hands or snuggling.

It's unclear!

And as if responding to the weather, I can feel my spiritual "tree" dropping leaves and taking in the pile beginning to form around its base. And the scene is lacking the usual exuberance normally associated with a pile of rich-colored leaves just begging to be thrown and released to the breeze.

The summer has been full of wonderful activities and warm memories. Always so much to do, so many people with whom to spend time. The hot nights slip through my fingers like the tiny strings on a bikini.

And suddenly, I feel good...but not great. Happy...but not thrilled. Hopeful...but not genuinely optimistic. Confident...but not completely proud.

I've missed several Sunday morning worship services this summer. And by "missed", I mean "have not attended" as well as "felt the absence of and have longed for".

My church is my second home. Because I belong there. But also because part of it belongs to me. In me. And by doing things other than spend time there, I have taken complete advantage of what is being offered to me.

I can feel my heart go through seasons of its own. And right now, I, too, can feel the transition into Fall(ing down). I am unsettled. I am frustrated. Ashamed. I am painfully aware of the areas in which I lack.

I have a beautiful lime-green, crocodile-skin-covered Bible. It is truly amazing and has loads of extra features geared specifically for a woman's heart. And doesn't it look pretty laying on the backseat of my car?

And my church friends? Haven't talked to them for weeks, but Facebook tells me all's well, so I really have no reason to check-in with them and see how they're really doing...right?

And my Savior? He promised He loves me always. And I touch-base with him when my plane hits some turbulence or when the church prayer requests come through my inbox. But to thank Him for every minute he gives me with my son...or for the job He handed me...or for the healthy body He's given to each member of my family...or for that blue-topaz-colored sky that you can't touch but you long to be out under simply because it's not part of the 4 walls we spend our lives in? He knows how spectacular His creation is...right?

Well, that last one is right, which is why it's even more amazing that the Lord allows us to be a part of and enjoy it at all. You know how, often times, when a dog misbehaves, we lock them up in a kennel or crate? Cut off from everything they want to do, from those they love to be with? Well, I'm a teeny bit thankful for teeny thing called GRACE. 

So, I'm hoping that, like the trees this fall that bare everything as a beautiful, graceful adjustment to the seasons, that my priorities will strip down and adjust as necessary.

Because cold I can live with. Unsettled, ungrateful, and ashamed, I cannot.