Conversations with God

I was sitting on the back steps this morning complaining to God about our little foster boy who is so naughty and annoying and mean and makes life just so unpleasant.

“Lord, he was so naughty yesterday that I woke up irked at him today!  He’s such a putz.  He doesn’t listen and he doesn’t learn.  I can’t let him out of my sight, but I’m sick of him always being IN my sight.  My own kids don’t even want to be around me because HE is always around me and is such a pest to them!  He’s making everything so hard and onerous.  Can’t you just FIX him?”

Sigh.

“Kerri, I’ve got a job for you,” God answered.

“A job for me?  Of course!  I’m happy to do whatever you want, Lord.  How can I serve you?”

“It’s a tough job, an inconvenient job.”

“I’m up for it.  Anything for you, Lord.”

“It’s going to be unpleasant and require sacrifice, but I will give you the grace you’ll need.”

“Awesome.  What is it.”

“Love this little boy.  Teach him.  Be kind and gentle, yet firm and consistent.  Be playful and affectionate while showing him how to respect authority.  And be patient with him.  Long-sufferingly patient with him.”

But…

Ugh.

“Okay, Lord.  Here goes.  But you’d better have an awful lot of that grace on hand.”

Breathing is Important

I really do want to write.  I enjoy writing.  It feels good to produce something.  It feels good to “get it out.”  And maybe I’m egotistical but I like people to read what I’ve written and maybe find encouragement or humor or a kindred soul.

During my preteen and teenage years I journaled extensively.  It was critical that I document all the feelings, escapades and trivia of my mostly blissful but also typically hormonal adolescence.  I later burned those journals.  I didn’t want all that immaturity to come back and haunt me… or whatever descendant might happen upon them one day.

Of all the articles I wrote for print during the seven years I worked for newspapers, the only ones I clipped and kept were editorial-type pieces; the ones not about “news” but about life.

So writing has been important to me for a long time.  But it has fallen low on the priority list.  There are so many “should”s in life, not to mention “must”s and the “I think it’s a must but really it’s not”s, that engaging in something as trivial (not the right word), wasteful (not quite right either), frivolous (getting closer) as writing for a blog that no one reads anymore because I’ve left it abandoned for far too long, or even just for myself should I never get around to pushing the “publish” button seems trifling (resorted to the thesaurus to find that one).

But another mom-of-many who is also a writer who finds herself in a time of unfortunate neglect of her talent inspired me with a recent blog post to sit down outside in the dappled shade, let the breeze tease my hair and just write something, get it out, let it flow, take a breather, be indulgent.

She wrote, "A writer writes always.  And not because of the need to produce as much as the need to just exhale. Verbally/mentally/emotionally speaking."

Exhale.  Yes, that's what it feels like.  Breathing is important (let that be the profound thought I am one day remembered for -- "breathing is important!").  I make no commitment to write more regularly, though I'd like to.  For now I'm just sitting here breathing.  Yeah, it is important.