Miracle Number One is that Bradford made a shot at his basketball game on Saturday. Unfortunately, Mark did not see it because the boys were playing at the same time on two different courts, but he was sure something big had happened when the entire other side erupted in applause, shouting, and catcalls. Go Bradford.
Miracle Number Two is that I was out of bed before 7 this morning. Perky, and without caffeine. I finished planting the pentas in my front garden, spread the mulch, watered, made whole wheat pancakes, and now I'm blogging.
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I've been experimenting with an old-fashioned solution to the bad diaper rash that Grace got a couple of days ago. She's been mostly diaperless the last few days. I gated the upstairs to protect the new carpet, and we spend lots of time outside. :) If she's showing any signs of being potty-trained by the time the rash is gone, we're going to keep it up.
On second thought, "keeping it up" might be too traumatic. I'll spare you the details, but she just did some serious business in her potty, much to her momentary displeasure. Also, this morning she whined as she peed into her potty--probably because the sensation is so different than going into a diaper. Training her now will take some time and patience. Time I have, but...
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Ben turned 6 last Saturday. He didn't get a party or any gifts to unwrap, but he did get an ice cream cake, and he did get to choose the restaurant at which we ate. Fortunately, he chooses nice restaurants to eat his chicken nuggets! Grace and I stuffed ourselves on the salad at Olive Garden.
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One last thing. Have I mentioned my garden lately? When people down here learn that we may move this summer, they comment about how glad I must be. But that is because they do not understand how therapeutic my garden has been for me. Lately I've felt so overwhelmed when thinking of the possible scenarios with moving or not moving/Mark finding a job or staying where he is/having a baby with a new midwife in a new house or having Janice assist me again/leaving my dear friends here or joining my dear friends in Georgia.
Instead of whining about this on my blog or on the phone, I spent extra time in prayer. God answered me in what I thought was a strange way. He didn't give me answers or directly calm my anxious heart, but He did give me enough energy to work in my garden. Was it Luther who said if he knew he was going to die tomorrow, he'd plant a tree today? There is something profound in that thought.
I can't very well pack my boxes and sit on the couch for the next three months. God gave me an outlet for my nervous energy, a glorious outlet that He's given to millions of people beginning with Adam. "Go garden. I will meet you there." This is not to say that I've given up prayer and Bible reading (I haven't), nor have I given up the fellowship of the saints in lieu of being with nature. My garden is simply a beautiful gift--from Robin, who did all the hard work and still talks me through every new task, and from God, who knew that my heart only feels at home in a garden.
1 comment:
What a wonderful post, Jeni; I know of what you're speaking about God's presence in gardening. (It's why I miss the north. I'm not much good at it here. But maybe I'm inspired to pull some weeds.)
Also, we were gone for Ben's birthday, but AJ picked out a gift for him weeks and weeks ago. We'll have to get them together as the gift was something that AJ was going to help him build...
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