Calling Dad

I call my daddy everyday. It used to be every morning, but now sometimes it's in the afternoon or even the evening. I used to think I was doing it for him, to make sure he knew someone cared about him. Now I know it's been for me all along. I need to hear his voice. I need to know that he's okay. I need to know if there's anything I can help him with or that he wants to just talk about. We've always been able to talk about all kinds of things for a long time, and this hasn't changed anything. Sometimes our conversations are 15 minutes; other times they go an hour.

I thanked him yesterday for his ready willingness to answer my call everyday. He responded by saying that I'm sunshine in his day. It was really sweet and something I've never heard before. Except for my sweet Kevin, I don't think anyone has ever told me that I am sunshine. It was like coming upon a full spray of roses I'd never seen before in a garden I've walked a thousand times.

Kind words do mean a lot. One of the things my mom did most excellently was to never miss an opportunity to give someone a compliment. Perfect strangers were a favorite target, but she fragranced our lives with them as well. Makes me happy that my dad isn't constipated that way and can openly share the same way with us.

Have I spent some life-offering words on someone lately...?


Think I'm going to call my daddy...

Mercies

The medical world has you rate your pain on a scale of 1 to 10 (worst), and Kev's gone from a 12 that had him in tears several times, to about a 5 today. He's a little ditzy on these drugs in a humorous way. He's sleeping now, and it's the sweetest mercy from God that he can sleep. I've tasted only a drop of what my dad went through for three years with my mom, helpless and thoroughly piercing to see your very best friend trapped in a 24/7 pain that nothing can touch.

Kev's convinced that he's going to work tomorrow because they need him, seeing it's the end of a trimester and a bad time to be gone. We shall see how that turns out.

The fridge has given up the ghost, so I have all its contents in four coolers and three boxes out on the deck. The insides of the fridge and freezer are now all ice white clean, thank you very much. Even in this is there mercy as it's still cold outside, and nothing is rotting, and I had the time to get 'er done.

I don't know if the big toe on my left foot is broken, but it's red, swollen, and doesn't like to bend in any direction. I'm pretending it's a moody diva hamster that just likes to be left alone in her moody diva preferences. It's worked so far.

Watching the Academy Awards and the red carpet show afterward on DVR kept me entertained all day as I busied myself with endless fridge stuff. Funny how His still, small, precious, present Voice resonated as I needed it during times like spilling spaghetti sauce all over the cupboards while emptying the fridge, boxing up its contents & trucking them out onto the deck, stubbing my maybe-broken toe, juggling one phone call after another on a limping Bluetooth, and attending to my still-broken Kev... His nearness and presence are priceless gifts that will somehow carry their import into the next life with me.

It is like a violence how a life can be there one minute and glaringly absent the next and all the next minutes after that. I don't know but a smidge of how my poor dad must feel every single hour of every single day without his lifelong love. What I do know is that He is there in that every single hour of every single day, everpresent, evernear, everloving, and everkind. We take of that grace, mercy, and kindness as we will, and there is always, always enough.

And so shall there be Enough always...

subbing

I subbed at the elementary school yesterday, and I had first graders, then second graders, then third graders! I just get my "mom" on, and that works great. The third graders kept saying that I was really nice, which is kind of alarming to a sub because that sounds like a platform into being taken advantage of, or they're going to at least try. I figured out that it was probably because I acted a lot like their moms--smoothing a head of hair, swiping a crayon shaving off a shirt, reminding them to use manners, granting permission to do certain things, giving directions and just generally guiding them through the day. There were a few moments where firmness was called for, but mostly it was do-this, do-that.

When they came in from recess, most were red-faced and sweaty since it was our first really warm spring day. I did what I'd do if they were my own children. I picked up the spray bottle and asked the nearest kid if he'd like me to spray him. "YES, PLEASE!" He squeezed his eyes shut, and I misted his face and hair. Suddenly a swarm of eager red faces aimed up at me begging for the same thing.


I sprayed and sprayed, going from face to face, then en masse. (I was careful not to spray the papers on their desks or anything electronic.) The ones who were the hottest went to the sink and further showered themselves with more water to cool off, but I had to stop that because they were getting the floor all wet--too dangerous, and I didn't want to have to clean it up.

Simple pleasures, simple kindnesses. I had fun playing mom-for-a-day to about 50 kids. I thought I liked the middle school best, but this experience has me reconsidering. Maybe I just like it when we can all get a little respect and have some fun...