What We Won't Do For A Goat, And Other Matters

So this was the funniest Edith conversation ever, and I probably should not share because my parenting skills will likely get grossly criticized, but it's just too funny, and I can't help myself. So I'm throwing myself under the bus.

Warning: Rated R.

Many of you in my life know that we are reading Genesis at Edith's request. I have never ever considered the Bible to be spicy or naughty, but I swear, it's way better than any Harlequin romance. Ever. Maybe it's exceedingly boring if you read it to yourself - but try reading it to an 8 year old and everything changes.

Also of note is that I answer all of Edith's questions as best I can, in an honest fashion. I want her to see me as THE source of information. She asks a lot of questions - thus, she knows more than your average bear. I have told her if she shares any of this knowledge with any of her friends, her information source will dry up. And amazingly, she's held up her end of the bargain.

Now, back to Genesis. We are somewhere in the middle of the cute story of Joseph and the Coat of Many Colors and his trip to Egypt. There is a chapter referring to his family back home before they move into Joseph's Egyptian adventures. In said chapter I've always blown over, some guy has like 8 or 12 sons. And his first born son marries this chick named Tamar. But the son "did evil in the eyes of the Lord" and God smited him dead. Just like that. Tamar was left a widow, which was not okay in their culture, so the dad goes to his second born and says hey, you are going to have to marry this chick. The second son doesn't want to but he does, and unfortunately he also did evil in the eyes of the Lord. When he lay with her, he purposely spilled his semen on the ground so she would not get pregnant.

Edith: What's semen?

Me: Well..... It's the part of the guy that actually gets the girl pregnant.

Edith: [Silent]

Edith: [Gears turning] 

Me: [I can see it]

Edith: So, it was like a powder back then?

I didn't quite know what to say, I was just trying so hard not to laugh! This child! Back then? As opposed to now? What? A powder?

I stumbled blindly on after mumbling something about liquids and then and now. 

God smited Son Number Two dead too (I know, you're shocked).

So wise old dad sees a trend happening. Instead of marrying her to the third son, he puts Tamar away in some little town, and tells her when the third son comes of age he'll make things right. But he doesn't, and Tamar knows she's been put aside. The dad goes to her little town on a business trip, and Tamar dresses herself up as a prostitute and sits outside of the temple.

Edith: A prostitute is someone who sells sex, right, Mom?

Me: Yes. You are very smart. Now shush.

(She knows this from Les Miserables. Second parent fail).

So the dad falls for the prostitute trick. But he can't pay her because he forgot his wallet or something lame like that. He tells her that he will pay her with a goat (equally lame, in my opinion), but he does not have the goat, and asks her what she would like as collateral. She opts for his insignia ring and staff and he gives it to her. When he gets back home, true to his word, he sends one of his servants back to the town with the goat. The servant looks and looks but can't find the Temple Prostitute. He asks around and the townspeople all say, What Temple Prostitute? We ain't got no Temple Prostitute! So he goes back home with the goat and it's a mystery.

Well, luck of the draw, Tamar got pregnant. When the babies are born (twins, don't you know), the people want to have her killed for being a prostitute. But tricky girl, she holds up the ring and the staff, and says, look what he did to me. He sees how wrong he was and what he made her resort to, and he marries her.

Kind of gross if you ask me. And Edith totally agrees.

Card Carrying Hypocrite

In the past 30 days I’ve had three separate people throw my Christianity in my face, one multiple times. What do I mean by throw it in my face? Kind of like saying you did this and this and this or you will do this and this followed up by, “And you call yourself a Christian!” All three of my accusers also identify as Christians, I think. It wasn’t those exact words or anything, but definitely along those lines. It bothers me, and I can’t fully put my finger on why, so you know me, it’s been rolling around in my noggin when I have spare time to stew about things.

This morning, on my second trip to church (I accidentally went an hour early on my first trip), I was carrying coffee from the lobby to our Sunday school class, and my noggin was going. I got to thinking how many people say they don’t go to church because it’s full of hypocrites. I’ve always thought that was a just an easy rather lame way out of going – many people who say that have never even really tried church, so it’s a second hand excuse that sounds good more often than not.

But today I realized that if people believe that being a Christian means you’re morally perfect, then yes, church would be full of hypocrites. In fact, it would be 100% full of hypocrites, if perfection was the measuring stick. I profess that I am a Christian – when I say that what I mean is I believe Jesus Christ died on the cross for my sins and rose again and ascended into heaven. I put my faith in Him for my eternal life.

It does not mean I think I’m better than anyone else – it does not mean I’m morally superior to anyone else on the planet.

It does means I admit I am a sinner. Still. Today. I am a sinner. I am by no means perfect.

Just ask my pastor, he’ll tell you I curse like a sailor. Sometimes I think I should lay off of it, but then out flies another one almost in the next breath. And sometimes it makes me giggle. I drink – and sometimes I get drunk. I am also a single woman: I crave companionship – my biggest prayer to God is for a mate, but as of yet, He has not brought it. Do you know what that means? It means I’m lonely and I’m 41 years old, and my hormones are screaming bloody murder. I have lust for the flesh, and sometimes that causes me to make poor choices. I make mistakes. Know what else? Every time one of my friends posts a picture of their brand new squishy baby on Facebook, I burn with envy and jealousy. It feels like my soul is being ripped apart. I sweetly type something nice and congratulatory, but inside I’m dying. I suffer from depression – I don’t always lay all my cares on Him; I carry them around in this big suitcase I have. I lose my temper sometimes, and I say things I wish I had not said. I harbor malice and hate toward others sometimes, and Jesus said that that’s the same as murder.

Yes, I go to church – it’s my favorite place to be – surrounded by others who are seeking God’s grace. And I pray. And I praise the God I try so hard to serve. I trust in His love and His grace. I trust that His grace is sufficient for me. Does that make me a hypocrite? If it does, I’m guilty as charged. Give me my hypocrite card, please.

Sacred Ground

Today has left me feeling amazing and overwhelmed and grateful and humble all in one great big stroke of genius somehow. I have hesitated to put words to it, because it seems bigger than what words can convey. But I have to try. Because I'm a words person - and the words help me process.

Edith got baptized today. She's had the desire to be baptized for about a year, so it's been a bit in coming. Generally in our church the dad's do the baptizing because they are the spiritual head of the family, but in our case, I am. So about a year ago I asked our pastor if that meant I could baptize her - I fully expected a "no." I told him I'd acquiesce to him if it was not okay. He said he saw no issue with it, but he'd have to run it up the totem pole - and a few months later the verdict came back down: it was a go. My heart soared.

I've had moments since then where I wonder if I'm worthy of the honor- sometimes I feel like I have a huge amount of flex in my spiritual walk. But for the most part, we've both been looking forward to it. We had to skip over the June baptism because she was up in Iowa visiting family (trust me, I strongly considered canceling the trip but decided Corn Country is also good for her soul).

Finally the day came - complete with the pre-service meeting about what was going to happen. And then in the middle of the meeting we got the word that the City closed the river due to all the rain. Baptism postponed. We were both pretty disappointed.

The river flooding wasn't the only hitch in the giddy up - in fact if was probably fairly minor in the grand scheme of things. There's been some intense family differences of opinion going on. Also her best friend's father and I have had a huge disagreement. All this was hanging in the air weeks before - who would come and who would not come? With the closing of the river, everything that was already stressful hovered and lingered. I know a baptism is not all about who comes and who doesn't come, so it would have been amazing no matter what. I get that.

She's old enough - she gets it, too - she understands what broken relationships are. It hurts her heart, but she gets it, even though she didn't cause it or want it.

So today when her Papa and Granny, her Daddy and her Ashley, Ashley's mom her Omi, her Queen Stacie and her Uncle Scott, her three nieces with their own three stories, her best friend and her dad, and her godmother who had been at the coast for her own birthday all managed to make it to her baptism, she got it. She saw it. She recognized it.

The pastor asked, "Before we get to the baptism, did anyone want to say anything else?" Edith raised her little 8 year old hand. I sucked in my breath and held it - oh, dear sweet God, what was she going to say?

She simply said, "I just wanted to thank everyone in my family for coming to my baptism. It really means a lot to me." Most people in the audience probably thought that was just so sweet and standard and maybe even trite, but I knew the truth behind it. She was grateful for reconciliation - for people loving her in the face of adversity - loving her despite divorce, break ups, bitter arguments, and business problems. She was grateful for people laying themselves down. While no one broke bread together, she recognized that she had a real live miracle in front of her - for her.

It made her heart full.

When we got in the water she was nervous and I told her to just forget about all those people and relax. And she did. Baptizing that sweet child was about the most amazing moment I have ever had - it was humbling. I cannot explain it - it was like nothing else existed except us and Them. Time held still - sacred is my very best word.

All of that that happened today was on sacred ground.

I'm just super glad we were both barefooted!

Human Crossroads

I’ve often struggled with faith in

The Creator of All Space and Time

But here, today,

               I find myself more struggling with faith in

               His most precious creation – Mankind

Maybe my heart is somehow defunct

Maybe I seek my own worth through

               Other’s validation

Maybe I’m needy or lonely

Maybe I’m just a Broken Creation

Maybe I’m mis-focused or say the wrong things

Maybe I try just way too hard to be seen

Maybe I come across as entirely too tough

Maybe I’m too honest or too kind

or then again, maybe I’m not kind enough

                              [I don’t know]

I do know that I’m disappointed

I see that through love and kindness and grace

               We could all of us be absolutely amazing

We could show this world His Amazing Face.

I’m not talking about buying an overpriced $6 caramel latte for the next affluent stranger in line

I’m talking about making a difference, an impact,

               I’m talking about loving to the point of Divine.

But instead we choose ridiculous choices

               We choose to be hateful and full of spite

               We choose to not see the other side of a story

               We choose to not extend grace, we’d rather be right.

               And we choose not to accept grace when it is extended

               Because it would grossly alter our pride.

               We choose not to enrich our relationships

We choose to walk away and set them aside

rather than engage in a Very Worthy Battle

In the past 168 hours,

I’ll admit my world has been thoroughly rattled.

I don’t understand why we choose our choices we choose

But I see that in the end, I do see we lose.

We choose brokenness

               Time after time after time.

               And then we go

   And we choose it AGAIN.

I can’t even exclude myself from my own rhyme.

In my life there have been moments I came to a crossroads

Where I realized I’d been burned, betrayed and despised -

I had to choose right then between giving or stopping.

I could see (to my surprise) that my demise might well be the Great Booby Prize.

I had to choose between trusting and believing,

Or being suspicious, selfish and self-serving.

I have always chosen to be naïve.

I’ve always chosen to decide to believe that it must be worth the effort,

But oh, Lord, right now I could use a reprieve.

A Brief Visit with My 21 Year Old Self

I have an admission to make. My mind drifts during church. Badly. So yesterday during Sunday school, my brain is just boinging along, as it generally does, interweaving occasionally with the lesson and then boinging about again. And a tendril wrapped around something I wrote just almost exactly 20 years ago. Today I went diving in the Grand Disorganization of All My Writings I’ve Ever Written (Almost) Pile and came up triumphantly holding the old beat up purple spiral I journaled in when my marriage fell apart way back then. Yes, gasp away, I've been married twice.

I’m going to publish what I wrote. Apparently, I had a special place in my heart for the F word back then, so I apologize in advance. I probably still have a special place in my heart for the F word, now that I think about it. It’s just a more secret, private place now than it used to be. My 21 year old self didn’t care - about that, anyway. She had plenty of other things to worry about at the time.

I will also warn you, it was a very dark time in my life. I found myself doing something I swore I would never EVER do – getting divorced - and I hated myself for doing it. I wanted to die at the time. I had even tried to, unsuccessfully (obviously). I was cutting myself. Burning myself. I was questioning what had always been my core belief system, and I was in the process of rejecting it. But in this exact moment in time, I captured myself deciding to stand up and fight instead of letting it crush me. I can’t help but picture the first time I watched Edith pull herself up into the standing position on the living room window sill. It was a moment of triumph in the middle of a very dark world.

So I will share, and maybe later, I’ll tell you more of why I was thinking about this. And maybe I won’t.

June 28, 1996

I exist

               “and why” i ask

               as i hold a knife down to my arm

i watch the blood flow to the floor –

               i don’t know why i do this anymore

i rinse myself in the dirty sink

               And curse

                              And cry

                                             And sink onto my knees

“Pray, God, let me go

               i can’t do this anymore”

And i can’t do this anymore.

WAIT. Have I become a victim of this life? If I am, it was my CHOICE. Who is in control of how I feel? Am I not? And if I’m not, then I have lost, or at least am losing, this game. I don’t have to sink – I don’t have to let Her (Fate) have her way. What’s been in my mind? Why have I allowed myself to sink this far? I am in control. *I* left. I made that decision, for I didn’t know what else to do. Desperacy – you can’t repent of that. I left. I left. I left. And that’s all there is to it – if I was wrong, I’ve repented. Why do I insist on torturing myself when I’ve already been through hell? Was that not enough? It’s been ENOUGH. I now must turn to analyze my heart and soul – that’s all I can do. That’s all that’s left. Matthew was right – come to understand my actions and my feelings. But I needn’t purposely punish myself for these things I don’t understand – I must learn what they are and try to hold them in my hands. I am in control. If it hurts, let it hurt – I shouldn’t try to ignore it or intensify it. Just let it hurt – can I allow myself to do that? Not to tamper with natural feelings? So honestly, how do I feel without any lies?

I feel angry. I feel guilty. I feel repentant. I feel free. I feel lonely. I feel confused. I feel sad. I feel ugly (inside). I feel stupid (for my arm). I’ve felt pitiful. I feel distracted. I feel frustrated at times. I feel awake. NO more beer. No more knives. No more blind nights.

And it’s okay to feel these things. It is all right. BUT it is okay to feel happy, too, sometimes. It is okay to fly and it’s okay to crash. These things are part of Life’s recipe. If you leave them out – well, then, where’s the spice? Life will fall flat in the oven.

Wake up, Ami. Fucking wake up. I will not play the victim. I’ve made choices – I’ve walked down paths. And here I stand as I am and I cannot regret that. HERE I AM – THIS IS ME – FUCK YOU ALL – I AM ME. I won’t apologize anymore for who I am. I stand alone in my own right – maybe that’s what I lost in marriage. I leaned too far and forgot how to stand up. You shouldn’t do that – you should grow tall together.

I stand alone and feel the wind blow through my hair. I hug my arms about myself and close my eyes. I feel beautiful and strong. I am going to the top of the mountain, where the wind blows the hardest and where I am the highest. That is my right – that is my desire – that is my choice.

To live, and to live better for my experiences. To live above them – to know all about them – not to let them sit as a strange dark mass that crushes my being. I am alive. And free. And there is NOTHING wrong with that – there is no need to feel guilty for that

I’m done apologizing for who I am – to Mike, to my friends, to myself, even to my family. There’s no need to – no one wants to hear it. No one else is sorry that I’m me. Well, at least no one who matters. They all chose me – chose to love me – it’s not an obligation. And love me for all of me – they have to – it’s not just my ambition, or my jokes, or certainly not my money. People aren’t as stupid as I think. They sense me – my heart and soul. They enjoy me and if they don’t, OH WELL, others will. I will. I will enjoy myself. I can do that – I can despite everything. I know myself best and there is plenty to love.

So……

HERE I STAND.

i exist in my own right.

i need no one else to make me feel

strong, adequate, beautiful, happy or alive.

i can feel these things alone, within myself.

I thought Mike could make me feel these things and that I could make him feel these things. But we should have felt these things on our own and then shared them with each other.

***

Editor’s note: I didn’t capitalize the word “I” back then, and I feel like I should make all the “I’s” into “i’s” for the sake of posterity, but the struggle with autocorrect is very real and is far greater than my current abilities or desire. And yes, I have indeed heard of search and replace functions. Thank you.

Not sure I necessarily agree with all of that anymore, but it’s rich to think about, now, isn’t it?

Smoke and Mirrors and the 100% Club

SPOILER ALERT: If you have not watched or read Bridge to Terabithia, you might want to stop now and do that first, because it is amazing and reading this will definitely be a spoiler.

Edith has this things about movies – when she finds one she likes she watches it over and over and over and over again. I swear, she watched Air Bud 85 times. And of course, Frozen. And Pollyanna. Her granny finally asked her why she was watching Pollyanna over and over back to back. Edith told her there was one line she couldn’t understand – so she just kept re-watching the entire movie! Granny taught her about the rewind function (I guess it’s not rewind anymore but scene selection, right). Currently this week in this life chapter the film of choice is Bridge to Terabithia.

Bridge to Terabithia takes me down my memory lane. I had 6^th grade reading class, taught by a wonderful human being named Mr. Peleck, with my new to be unbeknownst to me best friend Linda Blair. No, her head did not spin around and spew forth vomit. That I ever saw, anyway. We both got cast as the Chinese girls in the “Coming to America” play. You know, because I look so Asian and all, as does she. Or maybe Iowa lacked racial diversity at the time. We became fast friends, and our very favorite book was Bridge to Terabithia. I kid you not, I have likely read that book 200 times. We stole every copy from the Marshalltown Public Library (my statute of limitations is expired, right?). 

During the summers when we camped on Kentucky Lake, we were the youngest and thus never got kayak rights. But we would set the alarm for 5 am and sneak the kayak out before anyone else woke up. One of us would sit in the one man kayak properly and paddle, and the other would sit on the helm and read our novel out loud as the sun rose over the lake. We made our own land, Zianenia, in the woods on the other side. I’m telling you, we lived, breathed, and ate this book.

I have not sat with Edith and watched the movie but I keep catching the same scene over and over. 

This is the spoiler part. Mid paragraph. I let you get as far as I could without issuing a second warning. But the time has come. STOP NOW IF YOU HAVE NEVER SEEN THE MOVIE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD STOP READING RIGHT THIS INSTANT AND DRIVE TO YOUR NEAREST REDBOX.

Okay, it isn’t my fault if you are stubborn and reading this anyway. I know who you are.

At the end, after Leslie dies, Jess is pouring out his precious paints in the stream. An evil creature is racing through the kingdom and Jess starts running and screaming and crying. His dad – who has been seemingly distant and not understanding of his artistic, sensitive son throughout the movie – grabs Jess and won’t let him go. Jess breaks down sobbing while his dad crushes him in a tight embrace, speaking soothing, reassuring words. Heart breaking sobs just roll forth from Jess intermingled with self blame and fear. It gets me. Every. Single. Time. Even the 267^th time, apparently.

I was thinking about that yesterday – being curious about myself. Why does that speak so deeply to me? Why does it make me sob? And I think of the times I cry – I cry in front of others. Sometimes I get really irritated at myself because the tears can come so easily. I’m sad? I cry. I’m angry? I cry. I'm amazed? I cry. I tell you about the best chimichanga I ever had? I cry. I feel like I have no control over them – I can’t stop them, unless I just don’t speak or don’t share. Sometimes the tears I shed, if I let them flow, feel like I’m holding back a tidal wave. Like when I joined this group called Open Hearts. Yiiiiii!!! I’m afraid if I really let them go all the way, I may never stop. The only times I truly sob are behind closed doors and alone. The idea of being held through the sobbing is so appealing and appalling at the same time. A true picture of intimacy. I don’t know that I could ever let myself go, though, in front of someone like that. I thought, maybe Jesus will hold me in an embrace one day like that and I could truly just let it go. But then I realized there won’t be any tears in heaven, right? So it won’t ever happen I suppose.

This morning I read a devotional. It was on Matthew 10:15-16. “’Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the Kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.’ And He took the children in His arms, put His hands on them and blessed them.” Then the author wrote, “Close your eyes and picture yourself resting your head on Jesus’ chest. Can you hear His heart beating with love for you?” You want to talk about blowing me away! I was just asked to imagine what I had just imagined less than 12 hours before. Goosebumps.

That got me thinking about the movie again. The verse is talking about the Kingdom of Heaven, while the children in Bridge to Terabithia also created their own secret kingdom. And only children could see Terabithia – only children who believed could experience it.

Last September I was talking to an elder from our church out at our County Fair after going to the Chamber of Commerce mixer and having a couple beers (me, not him) (okay maybe one more than a couple). Probably not a super wise idea, but hey, I’m a risk taker, and they still let me go to church there. So far. Anyway, they were giving a survey and I wanted to take it. One of the questions was how sure are you that you are going to go to Heaven when you die? And I told him, you know, that’s the crux of the whole thing. I don’t understand how anyone can be 100% sure, yet there are people who are. I envy that. I wish I could be like that. But I suppose I’m just too analytical. I kind of patted myself a bit on the back for being too smart to take it all hook, line, and sinker. Like not being able to be hypnotized. I’ve just got too much going on upstairs for that, folks.

Edith is 100% sure there is a tooth fairy. Although yesterday she made a fairy house and left a blackberry out as a test to see if fairies really exist. She figures if it’s gone when she gets back from Granny’s then they do indeed exist. Which tells me the doubt is starting to creep in. But I’m damn sure that berry is going to be gone by Thursday.

The light popped on this morning! THAT is how people get to be 100% - that’s the only way someone could possibly be 100%. When my BFF and I read that book, we could *see* Terabithia. When we created Zianenia, we could see it. In fact, I can still see it now when I remember. It’s still there. Childlike faith is 100%. That is how they do it. Except the big difference is that Heaven is for real for real for real for real and it must far surpass anything we can imagine.

After Leslie died, Jesse couldn’t see Terabithia anymore for a time. And this happens to us too – we get traumatized or just “seasoned.” My devotional read, “Some of us may have lost our ability to trust because [of our family] while others may have lost our ability to trust through circumstances…But God has revealed time and again that He can help us relearn that childlike faith if we let Him.”

I think of Edith and her blackberry. Which reminds me of Gideon and his fleece. I suppose we all look for signs to reaffirm our faith. But when it’s truly a 100% faith, signs are not necessary. 5 year old Edith did not need a sign, but 8 year old Edith does. And 40 year old me is just too smart for smoke and mirrors. Or at least I was yesterday. 

Today I’m checking on that blackberry.

Confession: I've Stopped Doing All My Chores

In the past month I've had one of those in general just solid life shake-ups. Maybe everyone doesn't know what I'm talking about. I seem to have them fairly regularly - maybe once a year or so. Maybe twice a year. Where it feels like someone took my life jar and just shook the crap out of it, and I no longer am completely certain which direction is up, though I have an inclination that I'm fairly certain which way is up. But I wouldn't bet more than a few dollars on it. I guess some people call it having your rug jerked out from underneath you. I suppose it's rather like that.

I've run the gamete of emotions. Felt like my life was a whirlwind of a roller coaster, and the only way I could start to find peace was just to stop. Not everything, but I stopped a lot of things. I stopped teaching AWANA. I stopped going to Bible study. I stopped running. I stopped packing every crevice of every day with something. I stopped playing guitar and drinking beer months ago. I stopped preparing meals. I stopped eating a ton of protein. I stopped reading the Bible every day. I stopped signing up for races. I just stopped a lot of stuff. And I've met some judgment over my stoppings, but it hasn't swayed me much.

I often think of the scene in Forrest Gump where he runs across the US over and over and has all these followers, and then one day he just decided he was done. He stopped, and he went home. Everyone who was following him was baffled. It makes me laugh. That's exactly how I feel, and I have no better explanation than he did. "I think I'm done running now. I want to go home."

There are things I've kept doing. I keep taking care of the two children who live in my home. I keep snuggling.I keep working. I keep consuming alcohol (just not beer) and protein shakes in the morning with a raw egg. I keep cleaning the house and doing laundry and selling Girl Scout cookies. I keep taking the kids to their activities. I keep going to church. I keep playing Words with Friends. And scrapbooking. I still call my parents almost every day.

And there are some new things I've done, as well. I led those AWANA kids through a super cool service project. I've been talking to a man that I like many hours of almost every day. And I've rested - I've sat in my backyard and just sat and looked at the garden, and swung on the swing. I actually worked in my garden, more than once. I took anxiety medication for a week. And I started serving my daughter ice cream with both strawberry and chocolate syrup almost every day. I got back into a size 4 jean (something I thought would never happen again). I held my devil cat tonight and played with her belly and watched her stalk a mosquito eater. I noticed Orion.

I feel peaceful today. We started at my parents' house this morning. I let the teenager drive us home. We visited a friend who is ill and we prayed for her. Twice. We did a roof bid for an old acquaintance. We went to the pine derby race, and then came home. I let her eat Chef Boyardee for the 8th time this week and fed her ice cream with both syrups. We snuggled and watched Sofia the First. Then I sorted out 400 pictures and scrapbooked Alaska, while I continued to allow her to veg out on television. I finally put Edith to bed, way past her bed time - we brushed teeth, read devotion while cuddling a cat, sang songs, prayed, and covered her up again. Then she says, "Mom, can you play the guitar?" See, I used to play the guitar every night after I put her to bed, and that's how she fell asleep. But I've stopped.

I stopped because it started to feel like a chore, when it was supposed to bring joy.

So I picked up the guitar and I played it. I played "The Streets of London." I played "Ring of Fire." I played "Warrior is a Child." Then "How Great Thou Art." And I just kept going and going and going, wrapping it all up with "Victory in Jesus." My fingers hurt, but my heart soared full of joy.