Monday Morning Haze

The tepid anemic sun is trying to beat it's way past a thick layer of cloud. That means it's Monday and me struggling along trying to catch up with the inexorable and relentless march of time. Is that redundant? Sorry. Amongst all the lists and bits of paper I'm also trying work up learning notes from last week. Every time I sit down to really focus on them I, get this, am interrupted. It might end up being a whole month's worth by the time I'm done. Also, I've fallen behind on laundry. So I'll be grappling with that during the week. And then also to cut hair. It can't be avoided a day longer. And more so also, I just looked at the Calender again and so, even though I said wouldn't panic, I mean, I said that to myself, that I wouldn't panic, I've been resolving it quietly, along with the stupid resolution not to yell so much…I looked at the Calender last night and just went ahead and freaked out anyway. We've said foolish things like, “let's go cut a tree this year” and “let's make little models of stuff to give to the grandmotherly presence in our lives” and “let's hand make chocolate.” Aloucious, for reasons I cannot fathom, keeps asking “when are we going to make that candy for all the neighbors.” What neighbors? What candy? I always ask. Was I inebriated? And agreed to make candy for all the neighbors? I don't think so. I would never agree to that kind of thing ever.

It all swirls together in a tornado of priority. What should we do first? What day will we have free to sit and just read a book? When will we bla bla bla. Plus we're carrying on with school. In other years I've arranged for us to take the month of December off. It always seems a good idea. You know, we'll craft and think about Jesus and take time to meditate on the wonders of the incarnation. In reality it doesn't play out like that. It just means a month of lost normality and routine, a whole month to freak out instead of just one or two days of each week. No, it's better to carry through spelling and doing math. Studying, like most all work, is a grounding reality check to the insane flights of childhood fancy.

And then there's church. The first Angel of the Lord quit and so the second Angel of the Lord doesn't have a clue about the lines. I paid Romulus actual cash to stop being a guard and instead be a shepherd, only to pay him again to be Herod. What a racket he has running. And it's my shepherds bowl week. So I'll be, you know, cooking soup.

Sat listening to the various teaching of children, and then the sermon, which, again, really good. Go listen to it, whenever it's finally put up. It was mainly about singleness and hem, you know, what we've been talking about all these weeks, but I was reduced nevertheless to a puddle of conviction and sorrow and hope, yea, even me, married with all these children. God cares for the circumstances in which we actually are–not the ones we think we ought to have, or the places we might have gone, or the tasks we know we ought to do, or the kindnesses we wish we could reach toward. How come I never really learn this, year after year? How come I just keep piling up work and guilt and keeping Jesus at arms length, a friendly, appropriate distance, not too close? Don't answer that! I'm going to remove the child from my arm and go Christmas shopping. Because, you know, the reason for the season. Pip pip.