In the Wilderness of Unexpectedness

Yes, it’s Tuesday [Okay, now it’s Wednesday].  Which means I should have already written and posted the next declaration installment for my manifesto.  [Yesterday.]   And yet, here I am, in the midst of trying to facilitate homework (the nightly struggle which crescendos to an epic war scene that would make Hollywood envious) and getting ready for tomorrow, for spirit week no less.  All while not cooking dinner.  There is a grocery list needing to be compiled before the morrow, lunches and breakfasts to be made, socks to be found, bags to be packed…  Obviously not the ideal time to try to bang out a post. 

But this week is greatly lacking in ideal.   You see, I won’t be posting any declarations this week.  My journal, my personal, private, and much coveted [by me] journal, is about two hours away.  Stranded in the car that is crumpled and smashed from a homecoming crash Sunday.  Five hours in an ER wasn’t exactly how I planned to spend my Sunday night.  Or the wee hours of my Monday morning, either.    

The good news, the amazing news, is that we’re all okay.  A little bruised from seatbelts [Always, ALWAYS wear them!  And booster seats, even if your nine-year-old-child argues every time they have to sit in one, MAKE THEM.], a little scratched from airbags, and a little shaken from the whole experience.  But otherwise, we’re okay.      

The less than desirable news is that all my stuff is in my car: my journal, my clothes, my toothbrush, the auburn-haired beauty’s homework that she diligently finished on the trip, the flaxen-haired boy’s jacket, my Bible.  All things we won’t get until Thursday.  Truly in light of everything, that’s not even news worthy.  Thinking about all our stuff, I shrug and utter, “meh.”

We’re okay.  That is quite literally all that matters. 

The other good news is that I get to practice grace.  With myself.  I planned to meticulously and faithfully share my personal manifesto every Tuesday and Thursday.  No-matter-what.

Except that I didn’t plan for the eventuality of an accident that would separate me from my journal.  From my Bible.  So what do I do?  Strain to remember what declaration came next?  Skip ahead to the ones I do recall?  No.  I exercise grace.  I’m not perfect, I won’t ever be perfect.  And an accident is just that: something outside of my control, that crumples my well-laid best-intentions. 

Thus, this week I am only writing this one post.  To let you know why I’ve seemingly failed.  But it's not really a failure, I haven’t quit, I’ve just paused.  I’ll be back next Tuesday, October 2, with the next point in my manifesto.  Until then, I’m going to spend some time in worship, in the word, and in prayer. 

And I’m gonna spend some time with my family.  More than usual.  Doing things that let them see how very, very much I love each one of them.  From the Officer, who drove back and forth three times to rescue us, to the amber-eyed girl, who has since made it her job to mother everyone, to the hazel-eyed boy who has now decided he is permanently a six on the pain scale.  [For clarification, he’s not.  He makes this assessment while scrambling up and down the slide in our favorite playland, and launching himself out of swings on playgrounds, and running, screaming, after his friends at school.  I think “six” is a bit of a hyperbolic cry for attention.  But my job as Mom is to furrow my brow sympathetically, frown, and ask, “Can I do anything to help?”  At which point he laughs and runs off.  I’ll take that “six” any day.]   

Remember, dear one, always force your kids to ride in their booster seats [even if they think they’re too old for them] and enforce the rule that The-Car-Doesn’t-Move-Until-Everyone-Is-Buckled-In.  And,

 

May the Lord bless you and keep you;

the Lord make his face to shine upon you

and be gracious to you;

the Lord lift up his countenance upon you

and give you peace.

~ Numbers 6:24