All posts tagged: challenge

Humble Pie at the Playskool Kitchen

One dog forgets his size while the other requires an escort to the backyard. Rufus and Scout. Amplifiers of chaos. Two extra children to raise. When all hell breaks loose, Rufus and Scout are the first to get the boot. “Scout! Kennel! Go!” He’s too swift to spank; I tap him on the butt with the toe of my tennis shoe. He runs in the opposite direction. Hides under the dining room table. Freezes in the shadows until I finally get close enough to scoop him up and just carry him to his kennel. He’s gone in a flash. I give up. “Fine,” I say. “Stay out. Whatever.” You’re small enough to not frighten anyone, though your yap is obnoxious. Rufus at my feet – and legs and hips – turns in the hallway like a yellow school bus stuck on a one-lane country road. “Rufus, move!” When he, like a horse at the stall door, is on the other side of the baby gate, I can finally open the door to greet whomever. Or …

Try Again

The baby, hungry and in search of warmth, cries. The toddler, energetic before nap time, refuses a diaper change. The doorbell rings and sleeping dogs fill the house with barking. And un-showered, un-prayed me is so tightly wound I’m shaking. It did not bode well when I slept though my alarm, fell asleep nursing, and walked into my day, chaotic and without so much as a completed prayer. It’s Monday and it feels like it. But I stop later to shower and catch my breath; the hum of the hairdryer puts Izaak to sleep. I vacuum up dog hair while Abigail sleeps. It’s visible progress, therapeutic. A small step in the right direction. When I can inhale more deeply, less shakily, I stop to pray and start Monday all over again. Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed,     for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning;     great is your faithfulness (Lamentations 3:22-23). His great loves helps me to stop, take a step back, and see my Monday from his vantage …

Last Meals

It may or may not be from The Green Mile, but an old scene haunts my memory. A death row inmate from Yazoo City, Mississippi wakes on execution morning. (Or, was he imprisoned at the Yazoo City, Mississippi prison?) He partakes of his last meal. That last meal includes a Moon Pie. Maybe a bottle of Coke as well, but he undoubtedly requests a Moon Pie. Dad and I always thought that was pretty cool. Maybe my memory wove together clips to form the aforementioned scene, but the phrase “Yazoo City, Mississippi,” the notion of a known last meal, and the selection of a Moon Pie fascinates. Regardless, my point is last meals and I’ve had many last meals. Really, I’ve had enough last Cokes to stack clear to the Moon. The family lost count years ago of how many times I’ve declared: “Now this will be my last Coke until this day next year.” On Monday night, Zach and I ate our last meal. It was Pad Thai at my favorite downtown Montgomery restaurant. …