It’s July. It’s actually July. When I woke up at 5 am, I felt my body murmuring prayers I knew I’d need. There’s so much. So, so much. I’m talking vary vaguely here. Maybe that’s what old people do — talk vaguely, like when something bad is about to come up and you just know, but you couldn’t tell them, because you don’t want them to be scared.
On the jeep this morning, I saw an old man in his gray jeans, old shirt and tattered hat. My heart was moved. I knew I wanted to help him, to become that unforeseen blessing to him, but deep inside, an old song rang. Silver and gold have I none. I knew then that money isn’t the only thing humans need. And money isn’t the only thing humans can give. So I gave him a prayer. I told God I was one of those who are praying for this man, no matter what his need might be.
Yesterday was a lesson that slapped me a bit. Emotions mislead you. I plan to write something about this real soon, if I don’t forget, and hopefully I don’t. For the past weeks, my inner struggle with SIUMC was all about my emotions. Specifically, all about me. What I thought was wrong. What I thought was lacking. I know, they’re not perfect, and in them latched a culture far different from where I was bred, and my insides were fuming and sputtering at the lack of attention to the more important things. Which, by the way, is according to me.
I asked God to hold my heart and take care of my feelings, to not move upon impulses but rather on His nudging, to listen very closely to that still, small voice; and hopefully, to become the hands and feet He most deserve to have in this tiny space.
When I chatted with Mina and Miko Monday this week (see those consecutive Ms), I conveyed a thought: we are work in progress. The fruit of the Spirit, which should be present in our core and character, doesn’t come all at once. In the many situations given to us, God gives us a chance to hone our patience, push our self-control, trigger our kindness and so on. I think that’s my season. I’m in the process of getting all 9 in place.
To close this week — this miraculous, tedious week — takes a lot of sighs. Just this morning, Lola Anita smiled at me when I offered her a glass of water and a biscuit. To others, she always looked stern. To me, I just want to embrace her but hopefully not break her bones. What a life lived! When we have accumulated all those years, all those memories, we take less bullshit, because we “know” what’s going on. She, and her amazing sister Lola Rebecca, have weathered through storms, and have seen a lot that have happened in this church. They will always have my love and respect.
After weekends of skipping out on them, I finally sat down with my kids, had their attitudes thrown at me like prickly cacti, but I have my own bullshit meter; and even though I am kind, I am also good, and I have to teach them that they can’t just do what they want and get it because they finally decide they don’t want to miss out. Nope. These tiny hoomans have a lot to learn.
Meanwhile, listen to them practicing Posible Kahit Imposible. Ian, whom I realized was sort of pitch perfect, hit the notes right on the head.
Okay, so for the most parts, it was me.
It was crazy, because it is always a struggle to find what clicks for these kids, given that 1.) they don’t do it 2.) they don’t have the heart to do it. But, somehow, I think what really clicks is what I push forward, with the right encouraging attitude.
This post has a lot of italics. You have no idea how many things require so much emphasis.