Let's see. I talked with the Mom tonight about self-sufficiency and finances; I talked with Dad about his job and our individual travel plans for this weekend; I talked with Melissa about missions and about particular church issues; and yesterday I talked with Jeff about the rest of the family.
They sound tired. I mean, we're doing a fairly good job at spreading out and show signs of eventually multiplying (at least, Melissa does). Success is difficult, though. In some ways, we would all rather live for awhile as that disfunctional family where all the kids come back home from college with unfinished degrees and no jobs but lots of good stories and card-playing moments in which to tell them. It would be rather formless, but happy and full of togetherness.
Dear God, I am homesick. I thought you were going to be more help than this. Maybe you're helping in ways I can't see? All of my family seems sick for the home that used to be. Now we are smarter, wiser, and lonelier. We seem to know one another less. Do you do this to every family? It seems pretty rotten of you.
Since I know you're not rotten -- not at all, not one bit -- I will exercise that rusty faith of mine (of yours, really). And I will try to be thankful. Thank you. Will the drought end soon? Please show us some small cloud on the horizon. Thank you. And teach me not to be selfish. Thank you. Amen.
Posted by nickles at October 13, 2004 11:33 PMThe bad part about being stuck in time is that one cannot live it backwards. Each moment is unique, irrecoverable but precious in its fleetingness. How many grains of sand do we have in our hourglass? How many are smooth and how many are rough? How many are dry with dullness and how many wet with melancholy? I don't know. Yet I do know that those grains of sand are mine, given to me. I know that heaven will be so much better than here that it seems like I ought to shake the glass in order to speed up that agonizing trickle of sand. Yet I also know that I want to watch each grain drop slowly in His time, even if some particles are less than perfectly shaped.
Posted by: sarah at October 14, 2004 02:44 AMYour blog is amongst the most refreshing things I've read recently; honest and heartbroken.
Posted by: KornSt@r at October 14, 2004 04:06 AMBut you have a degree...
Posted by: Evan Donovan at October 14, 2004 04:44 PMi do love you dear bobbo. i love how you're so honest. oh my. i shall keep praying for you.
Posted by: melissa at October 14, 2004 10:08 PMSarah, the muse is with you. Those grains ARE precious! Isn't it funny how often we judge those grains and pick a favorite, when it's just going to slip down the hourglass anyway? Then we are sad. It's like wanting to live in a rest area when you're road tripping it cross-country to visit relatives. Or going home.
KornSt@r, thanks for the encouragement. Always good to hear from you. I am consistently amazed that folks are checking my blog when I barely have time to check my email! Yours deserves a visit from me.
Evan, as always, you make me grin. I DO have a degree, dang it! And Melissa, you're absolutely right. Sometimes the only reactions to honesty are the two you gave: "I love you," and "Oh my."
Still grinning, still posting. Love y'all.
Posted by: bob at October 14, 2004 11:54 PMhey Bobbo,
That's MY nickname for you, haha, cackles the ex. Isn't it great to have water under the bridge? Man oh man do I resonate with your bloggo, bobbo.
Let me tell you, though, it's really no fun to be unemployed, dysfunctional, stuck at home with nothing to do but play cards together. Believe me, Krista knows. Yes she does. Where you are supposed to be is the best place to be.
Posted by: Krista at October 21, 2004 05:46 PM