Blogblock? Brainblock? Mindmelt? ThoughtTrough? I've been trying to think of something to type for three days.
I think my job is sucking the life right out of me.
So, desperate, I thought I'd turn to my neighborhood church sign for inspiration. It lectures me at least twice a day as I drive through our neighborhood.
The brethren of the assembly kindly remind me that I'm not:
- giving enough
- doing enough
- thankful enough
- or good enough at anything on my own.
The sign is a bit harsh. If it knows what it's talking about then, without inspiration from above, I'm as useful as a half crunched Styrofoam lunch container floating in the mud puddle of human existence. That's a rough way to be and quite frankly a bit judgmental for a sign.
So today, thanks to that bossy sign, I look above, beyond, out, and up for something to write about. Essentially this could be a post about nothing that turns into something by sheer will... or perhaps divine intervention...
When our kids were really young, Andrew woke up screaming in the middle of the night. Jarred into reality from my evening stupor, I groped my way into his room and hauled him off to the bathroom. He wouldn't stop crying. I scooped him up and sat on the floor trying to figure out if at age 4 I'd messed him up that badly already that his sleep was disturbed when he blurted out "I think Jesus was talking to me! He's really loud and I can't sleep when he's talking."
Hmmm. Call an ambulance? Grab the Bible? Leap up and speak in tongues? Call the minister? Handle some serpents? The kid is 4. Jesus wouldn't wake up a sleeping child, would He? Doesn't He know how hard it is to get the kid to sleep in the first place? I'd rather not be ticked off at Jesus.
My senses returned and I said, "So what did he say?"
"He keeps calling my name." That's weird. Anything else?
Apparently not as eventually, he fell asleep and that was that. A few weeks later at dinner Andrew brought up his late night visitor. "You know that Jesus talks to me." (This is when I decided that the kid needed to stop listening at church like every other kid and start eating fruit snacks, breaking crayons and practicing paper aircraft.) He went on, "You know that Peter and I used to be with Jesus."
Tim and I looked at each other with eyes that could only say "Do we need medical attention and psychotropic medications? For him? Us?"
"Really," I said, "how is that?"
"Oh, you know, me and Peter were in that Bible-book with Jesus and everything. We fished."
"Really. You realize that you and Peter were named AFTER the disciples, you're not actually the disciples?"
"Oh." Andrew said a bit dejectedly, "Are you sure?"
"Yes, quite sure."
"Please pass the ketchup." Gladly.
An inspirational sign, indeed.