in my life I’d like to be too tall and too skinny to find a single pair of jeans that fit me after searching through eight stores.

Just once.

Is that really asking too much?

For now, I guess I’ll have to settle for being the mother of such a person. Sigh. More jean shopping will continue tomorrow. Wish us luck.

I knew it had to happen at some point, but I was hoping for one more season.

http://sports.espn.go.com/nfl/news/story?id=4433305

Thanks #54!

“You wonder why God doesn’t remove temptation from your life? If He did, you might lean on your strength instead of His grace. A few stumbles might be what you need to convince you: His grace is sufficient for your sin.

“You wonder why God doesn’t remove the enemies in your life? Perhaps because He wants you to love like He loves. Anyone can love a friend, but only a few can love an enemy. So what if you aren’t everyone’s hero? His grace is sufficient for your self-image.

“You wonder why God doesn’t alter your personality? You, like Paul, are a bit rough around the edges? Say things you later regret or do things you later question? Why doesn’t God make you more like him? He is. He’s just not finished yet. Until he is, his grace is sufficient to overcome your flaws.

“You wonder why God doesn’t heal you? He has healed you. If you are in Christ, you have a perfected soul and a perfected body. His plan is to give you the soul now and the body when you get home. He may choose to heal parts of your body before heaven. But if he doesn’t, don’t you still have a reason for gratitude? If he never gave you more than eternal life, could you ask for more than that? His grace is sufficient for gratitude.

“Wonder why God won’t give you a skill? If only God had made you a singer or a runner or a writer or a missionary. But there you are tone-deaf, slow of foot and mind. Don’t despair. God’s grace is still sufficient to finish what he began. And until he’s finished, let Paul remind you that the power is in the message, not the messenger. His grace is suffcient to speak clearly even when you don’t.

“For all we don’t know about thorns, we can be sure of this. God would prefer we have an occasional limp than a perpetual strut. And if it takes a thorn for him to make his point, he loves us enough not to pluck it out.

“God has every right to say no to us. We have every reason to say thanks to him. The parachute is strong and the landing will be safe. His grace is sufficient.”

In the Grip of Grace – Max Lucado

Sunday, at church, I was talking with a friend who had previously invited me to join her small group in the fall. I had asked her when the get togethers would resume when she got all excited and shared with me that they were having a end-of-summer picnic and pool party that afternoon and immediately invited me to join them.

I accepted her offer, but inside I was full of trepidation. Would I know anyone else there? Wouldn’t I rather meet everyone when the group meetings began again instead of crashing some picnic I wasn’t even prepared to attend? Would anyone else be as eager to see me and to have me there as this friend was to invite me?

I needn’t of worried, of course. This friend allowed me to follow them to the picnic lest I get lost on the way. And the moment we arrived, she introduced me one by one to all the other members of the group that were present. When it was time for lunch, she handed me a plate and welcomed me at the table even though I had nothing to contribute to the meal. She asked me questions and brought me into their conversations, explaining the things I didn’t know and clarifying the questions I had.

At the suggestion of another friend at church, I just picked up my first Max Lucado book at the library, In the Grip of Grace. In one chapter, Mr. Lucado is talking about Christ, as he takes our hand and leads us to the Father. I can imagine entering Heaven with trepidation. Is this gift for real? Is God going to change his mind when he has seen my past? Will His grace really be enough? And then I see Christ, coming to greet me with a hug and reassurances. He takes me by the hand and personally introduces me to God – not a formal introduction, but an excited, eager, introduction of a dear friend to his father!

I am one of these people Mr. Lucado is writing about. I think, yes, this grace is a wonderful idea, but really? Really? I mean, for some people, sure, they are good and wonderful and have loved God since the beginning of their life, but me? I’ve made some mistakes. Some captial-M Mistakes. I don’t know if this grace thing is going to be enough.

It is. It always will be. It always was. Before I was created, before I ever sinned, God planned His grace for me. For ME!! (psst! For you, too!)

Flash is coming home on Sunday!!!!!

PRAISE THE LORD!!!

(My goodness have I missed this kid this summer!)

I texted Flash tonight and asked him to please come home as no one will play Yahtzee with me here. He texted me back to say that playing Yahtzee would be the fourth thing he did when he got home.

I got to thinking and sent him my top ten list of things Flash will do upon his return home:

1. walk the dog
2. clean the cat box
3. eat everything
4. lost 20 Yahtzee games to Mom
5. cook dinner all week
6. rebuild the K’nex thingy George broke.
7. eat again
8. do all the reading you should have done this summer
9. throw Jonah (the cat) down the hall
10. tell Mom you missed her.

His reply:

1. play with the dog
2. be glad I’m back
3. leave all my stuff right where it will drive you wacko and then move it.
4. win 50 Yahtzee games
5. Call my two best buds
6. take the dog out
7. tell the cat to leave me alone
8. unpack an astounding amount of STUFF
9. reply to the 5236 texts Dad sent me during that time
10. sleep in my own bed.

My message back? “Love the list! (mainly because there is no mention of food consumption in your top ten!)”

His reply: “That’s items 11-15.”

His next text: “And 16-20 is telling my mom I missed her and all about my summer.”

Oh how I miss my boy.

There was a note at my door when I arrived home, along with the books and DVD’s he had borrowed the other night. He wondered if maybe I would want to watch a movie together later.

I welcomed him down but declined to watch the movie he brought with him (I didn’t think it was appropriate despite it’s rating).

He wanted to tell me about the first day of football practice – of how they have to get down on one knee and look the coach in the eye when he speaks, and how they only get ten second water breaks and how today they practiced at his old middle school but tomorrow they get to practice at the new one. And he pulled out last year’s yearbook so I could see his school picture (which he didn’t like but smiled when I said it was a great picture) and to show me the picture of the girl that he likes. He answered my questions about her and told me a little about their relationship. He likes her but she turned him down. He still texts her, though and he thinks maybe she does like him a little. It was cute and innocent and sweet.

He walked the wet puppy with me and then spent some time looking for more books in Flash’s room. When he emerged I told him I’d be busy tomorrow night but perhaps if he wanted to come visit again on Wednesday, I would be around. He said goodnight and thanked me again for letting him take more books with him. I thanked him for sharing his yearbook and movies with me. As he left he told me he had straightened up Flash’s bookshelf. I thanked him for that gesture and he responded by saying, “It was the least I could do.”

He is so very different from my own child, despite being the same age. But the fact that he so readily comes to my door, so easily sits down with much on his mind to talk about, so grateful for a book to borrow, a movie to watch again, someone just to talk to that my heart aches a little. He has a good mom, a hard working, single mom. I just hope she gets these wonderful, tender moments with him, too.

I posted a few weeks ago about my upstairs neighbor. The music has been toned down, but I didn’t get any response to my invitation to do something together. After my trip to the peach orchard, I took a handful of fresh peaches up, but they weren’t interested in peaches and I left feeling defeated.

Then, the other night when I arrived home late from the movies, I had three missed calls in quick succession on my cell from upstairs. As I arrived home wondering what might have prompted the calls, I found my doorknob had been greased. There’s only one culprit I would even suspect and I found the same frustrated feeling rising in me again.

I left a voicemail that night for my neighbor (for him mom, really) just asking if there was anything the matter or something I could help with. I didn’t catch up with her until the following morning when she explained her frustration at her son for calling me. “He’s so bored,” she went on to say, “but it doesn’t excuse him from just calling you like that.” He hadn’t left a voicemail. I don’t know if he was actually trying to reach me or just see if I was home, but in any case, I waved it away and didn’t mention to her about my doorknob. I didn’t want him in trouble.

I’ve spoken with his mom outside at 7:30 the past couple of mornings. She’s on her way home from work and I’m on my way out to work. We’ve been talking about the new middle school down the road and whether Flash will be attending with her son. We’ve talked about the bus route (or lack thereof) and about her desire for her son to “start fresh” at the new middle school and not be around the “hoodlums” he’s been hanging with at the old school.

I spent some time while babysitting the other day trying to brainstorm some ideas on what I could invite her son to do with me some evening that might be enticing to a 13 year old boy. You’d think I’d know that sort of answer, but he’s a different sort of child than my own.

Tonight, my question was answered for me.

When I arrived home tonight, there was a book and a note outside my door. Without even looking at it, I knew it was from upstairs. His note was an apology, as it always is, and a thank you to Flash for lending him this book long ago. He asked if he might borrow another some time and asked if I would just knock or leave it outside his door.

I took Eli for a walk and thought about my options. when I came in, I opened the mail and had my answer. My Netflix movies had arrived. One of them I remember putting on my list, but hadn’t realized I’d bumped up to the number one slot (so it got mailed now). It was a movie I had intended to watch with Flash when he arrived back home. It’s a sci-fi action thriller rated PG-13. Perfect for a 13-year old boy…

I called upstairs and told my neighbor that he was more than welcome to come down and borrow any books of Flash’s that he was interested in, I know Flash won’t mind at all. And by the way, I was going to watch this movie tonight, did he have any interest?

He asked his mom and got permission and will be down in just a few minutes to join me.

I know it’s just a movie. I know it’s not a big deal. But somehow, it’s one less bored night for this boy, and a night when I get to have company for a movie.

I see it as a win-win.

Down the road at the bar, is a man who is talking about the places where he has lived and laughing when he finds out the stranger next to him has lived in many of those places, too. Down the road, watching the Red Sox game, is a man, a father, who is telling this woman about the business he owns, his involvement in a community she is familiar with, about his family. Down the road at the bar, is a man who is witty, flirtatious and intelligent.

On the stool next to me is this man. He is telling me about his kids. He is reminiscing with me about places “back home”. He is watching me now, and not the game. He is telling me about his life, his family. He is unconvincingly without a ring, leaving gaps in his life story that only a wife could fill. He is telling me about his unhappiness. He reluctantly tells me about his wife.

Somewhere in the next town over tonight, is a woman. She’s a mother of four boys. Her sons attend the schools in the district where I work. She’s at home tonight. But her husband is not.

Somewhere out there tonight this woman is waiting. She is wondering what sort of errand to WalMart takes four hours. She is alone at home.

Somewhere tonight is a husband. Left alone on his barstool. Rejected for his offer to go elsewhere, he’ll finish his beer alone or find someone else to tell his censored story to.

For somewhere in the next town over is a woman. Who, tonight, was offered more respect for her marriage by a stranger on a barstool than from her own husband.

It is a small consolation, perhaps, but I hope it is something.