For homeschool devotions, we are reading Rediscover Jesus: An Invitation, by Matthew Kelly. It was handed out at our church during Lent.
The the book was written for grown ups, but on a very basic level; I’m guessing third grade. The only thing that makes it adult is that the examples he uses to illustrate points are ones that primarily relate to work, marriage, parenting, etc. I mainly edited these references on the fly to either eliminate things my kids wouldn’t get, or mostly, change the examples to ones kids would relate to. I incorporated my own examples about school, duty as it relates to being a kid (obedience, chores, etc.), friendships, and siblings.
I have appreciated the bite-sized chapters. In them, Kelly challenges us to add practices to our lives to help grow our faith. He supports his claims with his examples and with scripture. He gives the reader things to do right now – ways to start small with direction to take it to the next level with time.
A couple of days ago, chapter was “Comfortably Comfortable.” The subject? The importance of self denial in spiritual growth.
I worked another night shift this past weekend, and a brief chat with another nurse on the floor that night reminded me how easy I had it with my assignment. I was busy, but I had time to take good care of my patients, and make plans for how I would spend my time over the course of the shift that, for the most part, weren’t waylaid by unexpected occurrences. At the end of the shift, I came in to say goodbye to one of my patients, and she asked if she could give me a hug. I said yes.
Since I work very part-time, if a patient is having a longer stay, there is a very good chance that the eight hours I spend with them will be forgettable. I do my best to make their lives better in the short time that I spend with them, but I don’t hang onto any expectations that it will make a big difference for them or their families.
Despite the fact that I obviously made impression on a patient, I left wishing I’d been able to do more. As I walked towards the stairs on my way home, I absently pulled my phone out, opened up Instagram, and started scrolling. One of my friends had tagged a post with someone else we went to school with. I clicked through to her Instagram, then to her website. If the site is any indication, she’s successful and happy.
I knew her because we lived in the same suite freshman year. She lived next door to me and for some reason, she didn’t like me. She took it upon herself to “fix” me, since I didn’t wear makeup or even really know how to use it, let alone how to shape my brows properly.
I have what they call a Large Family. In fact, as one of my sister-in-law’s friends put it, “That squad is deep.” I don’t know if it was meant as a compliment, but I like it. We have a Deep Squad.
Sometimes we get a super warm welcome.
Our kids are generally well behaved. They are smart, and interesting. Yep, they totally have their bad days, and when they are excited and confined to a small space, even I don’t want to be with them.
Last week, I posted about how I met my husband. I’m not a superstitious person, but it still sort of felt risky, in a way. When you talk about how good things are, that’s when it typically falls apart, right?
Just days later, shit hit the fan.
I do my cussing sparingly, but there is just no other way to put it.
It kind of amazes me that we could have been living together as teammates and life partners for more than 11 years and hadn’t been able to peel back the layers. Honestly, we hadn’t been forced to. It was easy to assume we could get away with not doing it.
But then we had to.
I’ve talked about trying to fill spiritual holes with physical items. I’ve talked about knowing something in one moment, and trying to stay firm when I no longer feel sure.
I posted about that infernal raincoat, and suggested considering not purchasing any clothes for a year. In fact, I was doing a trial run of it. Then I realized the new pants I got when I was doing the Curated Closet process, I unwittingly purchased before I was done losing the baby weight.
