I feel pity

My husband is sick.  He doesn’t get sick much, but when he does, Lord, help me.  That’s right.  Lord, help ME.  He’s not the easiest to deal with.  Why are guys so whiney when they don’t feel good?  Nonetheless.

This won’t be a pity and witty post.  Since I have fewer friends who read this, I can be more vulnerable, I think.  This past month or two has been hell.  Kevin’s had the biggest exams of his life, so I held my breath and went the extra mile to help him.  Now he has a gazillion papers, and recital credit to try to cram into our busy schedule.  People at church have not only been difficult, but caused more work and time for him.  It hasn’t been uncommon for him to be at church until 7-8, maybe later.  Financially, we are extremely strained.  That is kind of a blessing, though, in the middle of all this, because we’ve seen how God has provided.  Sometimes it’s been in those Gideon-style ways, where you know there was no other explanation, and those times have humbled me with gratitude.  Which brings me to the next thing God has taught me about myself.  I was pondering His blessings during a TCU Percussion ensemble, of all things…

I was raised to work hard.  Dad doesn’t have a degree, and he worked on airplanes for most of my life.  His scarred hands and oil-smelling work shirts always made me feel proud of him, because he worked his tail off to provide.  I was taught that you should never expect handouts, but do what you can to help others.  I had my first checking account when I was 11, because my mom wanted to teach me the importance of knowing how to save money, and balance a checkbook, and keep track of what I spend.  We never had a lot of money; in fact, there were some really tough times growing up.  When my mom would buy me things, she’d often say something along the lines of, “That’s all you’re getting for a while, so you better be thankful,” or “I hope you realize what you’ve got.”  We wrote thank-you notes to my great-grandmother every time she stuck a dollar in her letters (a dollar, really?).  For everything we received, we were told how grateful we should be, and no one ever gave us anything without receiving a thank you note.  I really think that was a good quality to instill in us.  People still comment on how nice my thank you notes are.  

I think there might have been a downside to this, though.  Gratefulness isn’t really a quality you can force.  You can teach the lessons by situations in which you should be grateful, but you cannot force someone to be grateful.  I think that in the process of my mom emphasizing how much someone went out of their way for me, I cooked up a good portion of guilt to go with my gratitude.  Fast forward to now…  While I have odd jobs, I don’t have a consistent income (white girl in south Dallas can’t find a job), and I’ve having a hard time recruiting piano students.  Kevin has the burden of providing for us and paying our bills – most stressful of which are my own medical bills.  We’ve trusted in the Lord, and it’s been so cool to see how He’s provided.  But when He does bless us beyond what we deserve, there’s this guilt that creeps in with my thankfulness.  There’s a sense of shame for being in a place where God does have to provide for us.  Man, what a lie!  What a lie straight from the serpent’s mouth!  Not only does He want to bless us, He wants to receive the glory for His blessings.  Why in the world do I think that I’m putting God out, as if He is inconvenienced by having to help us?  As if His resources were finite and He wasted a few on me?  Or do I think that I’m above being helped, like there must be some mistake that we’re not making enough money?  I have been so convicted.  I’ve been so humbled.  And I’m so glad that God is teaching me this lesson at this point in my life!  What a beautiful thing He’s doing in my heart.  ”The Lord has done great things for us, and we are filled with joy.”  - Ps. 126:3

Bond, James Bond.

I was in Wal-Mart about a month ago.  A man caught my eye.  He was an older white man, with a white beard, white hair, and dark eyebrows.  (The fact that he was white made him stick out a little, because in this town and especially this walmart, whites are a minority.  That wasn’t racist, just fact.)  He was lifting cases of canned food and putting them in his cart.  This guy had a lot of cans.  I didn’t see his face very clearly, but he kind of reminded me of Sean Connery.

When I got to the check out line, he was in front of me.  I saw his face, and WOW, this guy really looked like Sean Connery.  Wait…  Was this Sean Connery?!  In my walmart?!  In my checkout lane?!  I kept looking around, trying to figure out if other people were freaking out, too.  But no one seemed to be looking past their own carts and the check out lady looked too depressed to be begging for autographs.  Mr. Connery must have noticed that I was staring (I really couldn’t help it…), and he decided to explain all of his canned food, “I’m going on a camping trip!”  I flipped out – he had a funny Scottish accent!  Holy cow, surely it couldn’t be?  Time to figure things out.  As he handed his license to the cashier, I leaned forward to see it.  Texas.  I’m doubting a rich actor would take up residence in this area of Texas.  But what if he was just passing through?  What if he’s one of those actors who wants normalcy?  He accidentally tried to take my cart instead of his with all the cans.  He apologized, and since I was still staring, he motioned to all of his canned food, “This isn’t all for me!”  I snapped out of it and said, “Uh huh…Sure it’s not!”  Then told him to have fun camping.  And he was gone.  Like that.

No one else noticed or cared, but I’m telling you – this guy was spitting image.  So now I think I must’ve come across some crazy impersonator.  I called Kevin as soon as I left the store!

What’s your craziest Walmart experience?

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