a southern analogy: leroy's tractor

 xxx

robert did some plumbing work last week for a man named leroy. and maybe it was robert's calm manner, or the fact that he just fixed his pipes, or that last week was unseasonably warm and bright, but leroy confided in robert. he sat and shared and told him about an incident.

leroy was pulling up a heavy root with his tractor one day when he pulled too hard. the entire machine toppled over and pinned him underneath. he was trapped until help came. as wheels spun and the engine roared. he emerged without one broken bone or scratch. he proclaims the greatness of our Father everywhere he goes now, praising Him for keeping him safe during those dreadful minutes. he talks to anyone who will listen, even plumbers.

and as robert was telling me this, i thought about all the weight crushing me, and i wondered how different my struggle really is from leroy's.

the tax information that keeps coming in the mail.
the school project due in april that is actually just one big, massive speech. that falls on my birthday.
the textbook reading.
pablo chewing his paws.
the technology exam guide collecting dust on my desk.
the dayplanner with scribbles on every single day.

we're all trapped under a tractor. we're all thrown occasionally. stuck in a rut as the tires rotate inches from our heads. there was one time i thought it would be funny to walk on a treadmill backward. i slipped and fell and was pinned against the wall with the belt still moving on my back. it was awful. and taught me that one should always move forward, and that things are designed to work in a specific way, for our good.

so we're all here together. pinned with weights on our shoulders. we don't know how big each person's tractor is. some are under tiny weedwackers. but some are under massive john deeres.

the analogy is cheesy. it's overused and a bit flat. but it's true.

this week, i resolve to be more like leroy. to trust that someone greater than me will pull me out of this rubble. this grave i've made for myself. we may not always emerge without scratches. sometimes we will bruise our own hearts. but the thing is, we will emerge. we do. because we're watched and cared for by someone who moves those boulders like they're tinker trucks. because it's not the weight of the burden that matters; it's the power of the lifter.

dear abby

i'm driving to virginia today to spend the weekend with one my closest friends.

the one i met my first night of college, when she poked her head into my dorm room to introduce herself. hours later, i wrapped up in a blanket, walked across the hall and talked with her into the night. the one who sat with me as i laid on my twin bed in misery, two days into a break-up with robert. who put up with my late night study sessions, my part-time job at the newspaper, and my penchant for extra-fizzy cheerwine that would spew across our futon. who sat in the dorm basement with me every monday as we dove into the Bible, and slipped notes of faith and encouragement under my door in our apartment.

who rode overnight with me to the beach in robert's van, with the music too loud, sleeping on the sand, and two years later, made the trek to my hometown to be there when robert proposed.

she stood up with me at our wedding and i'm beyond honored to stand at hers in march.

congratulations, abby. let the bachelorette weekend commence!

today's blessing + a shameless plug

 

there are some times it hits me that this world is okay. it's usually when i'm perched on my kitchen counter in the dark clutching hot coffee while the sun rises around the field in front of the window.

sometimes, it's driving on the highway and a kind stranger lets me in his lane. or when a man in a business suit and porsche gets behind me and doesn't curse me with his eyes because i'm driving slow.

when pablo looks at me with a face that says, i don't care what you did today. i don't care who you ignored or didn't call back. who you were rude to or forgot about. that you promised yourself you'd read your bible at lunch and went out with the office instead. that you hurried off the phone with your mom on your way out the door this morning, and cut robert off when he called to check in. all i care about is you're here. you're here and home and you're good. to me, you are good.


today, it is my sister. driving across town to meet me in an hour. to sit in a cafe far from here and drink caramel coffee. looking into a face so like mine, but so different. spending time with her reminds me no matter how crazed life gets, i'm blessed because i know someone who is golden.


it's these little reminders that propel me along. that i collect and store until one day it rains too hard and the fog has a hard time lifting, and i need them. the good thing is, like His mercy, these blessings are new every morning, within reach. the important thing is grabbing them.
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p.s. my sweet friend janette from janette the jongleur has nominated my little blog for a blogscar. as someone enthralled with everything hollywood, who made the trek to the independence theater across town last weekend to see the artist, i am beyond honored. the blogscars are the blogging oscars, and vintch is up for best blog and best writing. if you have a second, please cast your vote!

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thank you xoxo

tea-se me, please

here's the thing.

i don't much like hot tea.

i try. oh goodness knows, i try.

i have a cute little grandma who carries her own tea bags in her purse, ordering a cup of hot water at restaurants. i have a sweet, calm friend who wraps her hands around a warm mug of fruit-flavored tea during bible study. and then there's my peppy work friend who loves lemon zinger in the mornings.

i haven't honestly given it a fair shake, i don't think. i've had a little green tea, a little black tea, and this morning, when i felt a little sore throat washing over me (dang north carolina weather! hot/cold/hot/cold), i made a big cup of raspberry pomegranate tea.

i was born and raised in the south, and can drink anyone under the table with sweet tea. i want this ardor to carry over into the hot tea realm.

so please, please. share your tea experiences. your recommendations. they're calling for highs in the sixties today and cold rain showers by this weekend. i don't think this sickness is going away anytime soon.

a lesson from dolores: a meaningful life

"he just looked at me, on the stoop in front of his parents' house, and said, 'well, dolores. it looks like we're in love. you reckon we ought to get married?' and i said 'well lewis, i reckon so.'"

we sat side by side on her couch last night, our thighs touching as we embroidered. i've been coming to see robert's grandma twice week for four months now. and while she has almost completed an entire set of pillowcases, i'm still working on the same dresser scarf. but we gab. we sit. she feeds me yams and chew bread and banana pudding, green beans with corn and apple fritters. and as lewis sits in the recliner cracking walnuts, an hour or two passes. then, she pulls the curtains forward and hugs me close, breathing me in and telling me how much she enjoys our visits. i tell her the same.

i asked her about courting. about her favorite movie stars (clark gable) and where she met lewis (walgreens. he stepped on her foot.)

she sighed. "you know, life sure is meaningful."

and we talked some more. and i completed a few more back stitches. but that sentence stuck with me. for its simplicity. its honestly.

it's meaningful, what we're doing here.

every corporate memo you type.
every time you fix the paper jam in the office.
every time you stretch against the kitchen counter waiting for the coffee to drip.
every early morning and late night meal prepared against music.
every phone call you make to encourage, to check in.
every time you're tired and just want to eat cereal, take a bath and go to bed, but you swipe on the lipstick and go dancing anyway.
every time you eat cereal and take a bath and go to bed.
every handshake you give and nod or tilt of the head.
every time you sit on your bed in the middle of the afternoon and watch the sun dance across your quilt and think about when you were young, and your parents were invincible.
every time on your knees, in a group, in your car or under the covers, you whisper a prayer.
every time you look someone in the eye and say i really, really love you. 

they mean something. they are vital to your story. the story you build, shape, tear down and remold. until one day you find yourself in your eighties, sitting beside a woman you won't know until your children are older. i pray our stories are as colorful, detailed and bright. and sweet enough to stop someone mid-stitch.

phil dunphy, autotuned.

you guys.

i wanted to write something deep on here today. because in all honesty, today feels good. i've managed to keep my coffee warm in sub-freezing office temperatures and there is a sliver of sun dancing across my keyboard.

but all i want to do is watch this. robert and i were up until midnight rewinding the episode of this week's modern family. i found it to be one of the best ever. and i know it was met with controversy, because it included a child cursing (but not really. she was saying fudge in real life. anyway.)

that issue aside, can we all please enjoy the hilarity that is the phil dunphy autotune?

i feel this way today

 xx

that is my problem with life, i rush through it, like i'm being chased. even things whose whole point is slowness, like drinking relaxing tea. when I drink relaxing tea i suck it down as if i'm in a contest for who can drink relaxing tea the quickest.

-miranda july

i want to live in miranda's world. everything she writes breaks my heart with its honesty.