We’ve covered some weighty topics in this space lately, mostly because that’s how life has felt around here and I see no point in trying to hide it.
That said, I’ve also been paying attention to little things that are bringing me joy along the way, and now seems like a good time to share some of them. This is kind of a departure from my regular blog fare, but just consider it an appetizer to the “what I learned this spring” post I’m planning for next week.
Over lunch a while back, a friend asked if I was angry at God.
Close loved ones are going through trials that, while mostly not immediately life threatening, are a mixture of exhausting, sad, frustrating, uncertain, overwhelming and stressful. These things are not happening directly to me, but they are directly affecting me in ways that bear some of the same results.
A few weeks after I officially graduated from college, I had major surgery to remove a grapefruit-sized cyst on my ovary (and, it turned out, repair other damage from the severe endometriosis I didn’t know I had).
I had completed my coursework a semester early and was back living with my parents because my first “real” job didn’t pay much. This arrangement, while maybe not what I had hoped for, turned out to be providential because I was able to recover at home with plenty of TLC from my mom.
One of my fondest memories from this period in my life is sitting on a comfy chair in the family room, eating my mom’s Italian meatballs while an NBA playoff game aired on the TV in the background. (I had zero interest in professional basketball; I suppose I remember that detail because this scene is captured so beautifully in my mind.)
When Randy was having his heart procedure last week, I had big plans for my time in the waiting room.
I was going to get a good jump start on writing one or two blog posts that I’ve been pondering lately. Catch up on some email, peruse a magazine I had been saving just for this morning, maybe even read a book for a while.
What’s that they say about the best-laid plans again?
Randy’s heart had been doing its typical misfiring while he was being prepped for the procedure, so we had good reason to think this wouldn’t be like one of those days when you take your malfunctioning car to the shop and it refuses to act up for the mechanic. Plus, the nurse promised to call me every hour or so with updates.
Randy and I have a phrase we like to use when we are talking (or texting) about something that intimidates us or makes us apprehensive. I wouldn’t call it an inside joke, exactly—it’s more like a code between the two of us.
We might be discussing a difficult conversation we’re about to have. A problem we can’t figure out. An assignment we don’t like. An appointment we’re dreading.
As fears go, it was a little bit ridiculous.
I was afraid of yeast. More specifically, of baking with yeast.
You won’t find this fear on any list of documented phobias. I know—I looked.
But as irrational as it sounds, it was real for me.