Mama Bears Anonymous

Have you ever wanted to chase someone down on the turnpike and physically inflicted pain upon his inconsiderate body. Now, allow me to make this claim before I type another word about my story. I am not a “road rager”. I am usually the one who waits at a stop sign and lets someone else to go ahead of me causing screams of honking horns behind me. I have not always been the meek driver I have worked at being now, but I would consider myself a considerate road dweller. I normally simply refuse to allow another person to ruin my day when they neither are aware nor do they likely care about my screams of insanity. Yesterday, however, was an entirely different story.
So there I was. Rocking along on H.E. Bailey Turnpike minding my own business with my daughter Brenna Grace sleeping peacefully in the passenger seat. We had just made a trip to Oklahoma City for a few things and had stopped by what I fondly call “Fat Freddy’s” for super yummy frozen custard. I had taken Brenna to the doctor earlier that day and she wasn’t feeling well, so the custard had pleasantly filled her tummy with sugary sweetness and she was content in her deep snooze on the way back home. I occasionally glanced over at her during my drive and just smiled thinking, “God, She is so sweet. Thank you for giving me such a wonderful little girl.” It’s funny how I seem to forget that when she is awake from time to time. It’s just that when she is sleeping, all I can see is that little cherubic angel I used to hold and rock to sleep to the lullabies I made up. Innocence. There is just nothing more precious to me than watching one of my children sleep. At that particular moment I was all warm and fuzzy, nostalgic, near misty eyed. It was indeed a sweet moment…and then stupidity swooped in on its ugly broomstick shaped like a green SUV and smacked me back into reality. Imagine my surprise that “stupid” greatly resembled a man behind the wheel with a Dale Earnhardt, Jr. complex and a chip on his shoulder!
So there are many driving injustices I have grown accustomed to during my years of recovery from ranting like a lunatic while driving. I have even grown much more tolerant of little inconsiderate drivers who behave as though the roadways were built for their use alone and think how DARE I venture onto them to inconvenience their driving adventure. The thing I am currently working on is not reacting to those people who speed up frantically to cut you off just before you pass another vehicle on a two lane highway. You know, as thought it did not occur to them that the tractor driving 12 miles an hour might be driving too slowly for their liking before you are 20 feet from passing them. As though the extra 30 seconds it would take them to allow you to pass and get out of the way would make them miss their own wedding or something. I struggle with that. Something in me before my steps of recovery simply wanted to slow down to the exact speed of the car anyone would want to pass and just ride along beside it just to let the guy know he was acting like an idiot. I know, I know! It was juvenile, but that is how my brain worked before I realized it was just stupid to act that way. I’m at the stage in working on that pet peeve that I just maintain my current speed and if they have the space and time to pass before I do then I don’t try to keep it from happening. That was NOT what took place on the road yesterday.
I had cruise control set to the speed limit. I have learned the hard way that it does not pay to speed, but that is in and of itself an entirely different story all together. Speed limit set. Driving with hands at 10 and 2…well, actually, one had was on the cell phone, but my eyes were on the road and I knew the green SUV was beside me. This guy had sped up and passed and slowed down several times over the course of 30 some odd miles. An annoyance I had overlooked time and time again. I hadn’t even thrown him an annoyed look when he’d passed me for the fourth time. We were approaching another vehicle who was driving probably 10-15 miles an hour under the speed limit. I was in the passing lane and Mr. Offensive Driver was in the right lane behind me. Cruise control still set. Phone call ended…hands now at 10 and 2 positions. Apparently this man did not appreciate the fact that I was not slowing down so that the “king of the road” could move on down the road to offend legions of other drivers because he did not cut me off, but rather sped up to within mere feet of the bumper of the slower vehicle, turned to look me square in the eyes as if to say “you had better move, woman”, and proceeded to blatantly change lanes to move me out of his way. His passenger, who I assumed was his wife, had the same wide-eyed look of shock as I did on her face as I had to swerve to the left and slam on the brakes to avoid being broad sided by the lunatic. I nearly hit the concrete wall dividing the two directions of traffic. At that moment all my steps toward recovery flew out the window.
I blared my horn and screamed, “What are you doing, you crazy person?! Oh it’s on, you maniac!” I pointed at him, adjusted my ball cap, and gripped the steering wheel with new purpose. The 10 and 2 positions have permanent indentions now. Not only did he try to run me off the road, once he passed the slower vehicle, he tailgated the car in front of him refusing to return to the right lane. Apparently the car in front of him had seen the commotion and refused to get out of his way as well. When I had safely passed the slower vehicle, who, by the way, was an elderly gentleman who looked terrified by the whole ordeal, I returned to the right lane to pass the crazy “king of the road”. As I passed, I noticed his wife was hanging on for dear life, eyes wide, head glued to the head rest. I pointed at the man and said very slowly so that he could read my lips, “You need to learn to drive,” and drove on. Ladies, now might be the time to inform you that insulting a crazed man’s driving skills at a moment such as that is probably not the best approach. You see, it is now my understanding that some men pride themselves in being the better drivers in the great universe of vehicular mobility, and such profanities as indicating otherwise send them into bouts of vindication of that title of “master of maneuver”. The man promptly changed lanes, wife screaming frantically, and attempted to catch up to me. Either his wife won the argument or he realized he was acting insane because he suddenly slowed down to the speed limit and maintained a two car length space between us. Several miles down the road he signaled to take an exit, and for a split second I considered whipping over into the exit lane and exiting, slowing down so he could pass, and following him to his final destination. In that split second, I imagined jumping out of my car and removing his bowels through his mouth. I thought better of it and stayed the course to home. Blood bath adverted.
Now you may be sitting there thinking, “Veronica, really? …All that intense emotion over something that left you in one piece in the end? You didn’t crash. You knew the guy was dangerous. You really wanted to chase him down and confront him? Really?” The answer, my friend, is a resounding “YES!!!” I could care less that the guy was an idiot and obviously needed a stint in an adult driver’s education class. What sent me into my frenzy was the fact that when the man nearly hit my vehicle in his moment of rage, he nearly hit my beautiful, sleeping daughter who did not feel well and never saw the lunatic coming. In my mind I wanted to protect her, to end this crazy person who endangered her life. Hello! She’s my baby, the youngest of four and my only girl! I was determined to put the man in his place. I’m really glad now that I didn’t exit and follow him, because nothing good could have come from it. I debated even writing about it because I didn’t feel like I had learned anything from it, but as I sat here this morning thinking about the incident it occurred to me, my lesson in it all.
Surely God, with every fiber of his being, wanted to intervene on behalf of Jesus as He was wrongfully accused, viciously beaten, and ultimately gruesomely murdered upon the cross. The crown, the vinegar, the spear…all of it must have made Him feel incredible emotions of hurt and anger. Think about it. I know He knew everything that was going to happen before He set it all into motion, but the actual moment of observation of the actual event must have been incredibly difficult for Him. He had willingly given His son to the world as a living example, a completely pure sacrifice for our innumerable sins. They couldn’t just kill him. They had to lie, mock him, add insult to injury. I am so glad I am not God, because that day would have been a huge day of smiting and we would all be in sad shape on the eternity front. You see, it occurred to me the incredible love that God our Father must have held for us to allow the horrific events to unfold on that day. He even had to turn his head away because it was so painful. Just like many of us who are parents we would literally feel pain if we had to sit back and watch someone hurt our child, so God felt the pain of Jesus. We are wired to protect our children, to stop anyone or anything who threatens their safety. So is God. He simply saw the larger picture and the ultimate purpose for the events taking place and He allowed it to happen. So, looking back on the situation I am reminded that I am indeed fashioned in God’s image, with the same emotions and many of the same tendencies. I am also reminded of exactly why He is in control and I am not. If the world had to depend on me to allow my child to die while I watched, we’d all be planning very, very hot eternal trip. I am also completely overwhelmed by the measure of love God possesses for us…and why? Because we are His children and He will do whatever it takes to protect us, even if it is from ourselves. He sure is a great Dad!
Now, in closing, allow me to say this…Hello! My name is Veronica and I am an insane mama bear! And all the mamas in the house say, “Hi, Veronica!”

Where the Rubber Meets the Road

I have to say that I consider myself an independent woman. Now don’t get me wrong, I do like having a man around to take care of those rather unpleasant chores such as oil changes, lawn maintenance, and most recently, a flat tire. I know HOW to do all of those things, but why WOULD I do them if my wonderful hubba-hubba hubby is willing to do them.
A few weeks ago Chad and I went up to the city for our anniversary for a couple of days. The weekend had gone really well. We were enjoying just spending time together alone. We had just entered the freeway from a service road when an all too familiar vibration rocked the car, and the terrible noise of a flat tire forced a roadside sabbatical from our afternoon adventures. It was a Saturday at about 3:01, exactly one minute past the time most tire shops close. I’m not exaggerating. It was exactly 3:01 when I looked at the clock!! We were exactly 93 miles from home with a 5 year old donut spare tire on which we were supposed to drive no faster than 50 mph.
What to do? What to do? While I searched the internet for a number to a tire shop with Saturday service hours, Chad dutifully exited the car and changed the offending tire. As cars whizzed past at high speeds, I thanked God for a husband who takes care of me. I somehow managed to locate one of our tire shop workers, and was directed to a sister company in the city that would honor our tire warranty. Whew! Travesty averted! We spent a romantic two and a half hours in a Firestone store and were back on the road to fine Mexican dining before making it home a few hours later than expected. All in all, I chalked it up to another unusual adventure in my life.
About a week later, Brenna Grace and I went to the local Wal-Mart to procure the needed toiletries for kid’s camp. We had spent an enjoyable day of mommy/daughter time together, reveling in the lack of testosterone to hinder our shopping adventure. As we crossed the parking lot, heading toward home, the miserably familiar “thwap, thwap, thwap” of a flat tire sent pangs of trepidation up my spine. It was after dark and it was only Brenna and I in the car. I said, “Are you kidding me?!?! Again?!?!” I stopped the car and stepped out to the realization that the SAME tire was flat that had been replaced a week prior. I fell into my “independent woman” zone and began replacing the injured tire with the donut spare, yet again. My little girl stood looking in amazement as I loosened the lug nuts and hoisted the spare into place without struggle. I giggled and told her to pay attention in driver’s education when she is in high school, seven years from now. As I was tightening the last lug nut, a young man stopped to offer his help. “Convenient,” I thought with a laugh in my belly. I thanked him and sent him on his way. We headed home and I crawled into bed even more grateful for my wonderful husband than the day before.
The following morning, or rather, later that morning I pulled into our tire shop convinced my tire warranty would not cover two flats on the same wheel in a week. I was wrong. As the gentlemen flew into action replacing the tire, I took a seat in the waiting area and flipped through a recent copy of “Family Fun”. While glancing at the advertisements in the magazine I ran across a 20% discount code for a resort we were taking our middle school Sunday school class later this summer. I made note of the discount code and finished two more magazines before I was called to the payment counter. Feeling accomplished with the day’s activities, I headed home.
Wednesday, as I conducted my weekly trip to Wal-Mart, I remembered that I needed to get a final confirmation from our church secretary, Mel, for the expenses related to our middle school Sunday school trip. During my conversation with Mel, she relayed the final cost of the hotel rooms…approximately $150 over the amount we had raised for the trip. I was so disappointed. As we ended the call, I was concerned where we were going to get the extra money, and that’s when I remembered the discount code from the magazine at the tire shop. I made a quick call to Mel with the code, hoping the hotel would honor it since we made the reservation without the code. When Mel called back with the new total, I nearly laughed aloud in the middle of the store. The final total was $15 less than the amount we raised. I wanted to do my happy dance, but decided against it since I was in a public venue.
I will now explain the seemingly irrelevant details of my story. Today I sat thinking of Psalms 37, a passage Chad called and told me I needed to read. He does that on a regular basis. I just love that about him! I was temping for our local paint and body shop today, so between calls and estimates I read the chapter in full. Verse 25 says, “…I’ve never seen the righteous forsaken or his seed begging bread.” I love that verse. My steps are ordered by God, so I am never forgotten. He always knows where I am and exactly what I need. I was sitting there just thinking of all the wonderful ways God has provided for my family and it donned on me that the discount code was yet another of his provisions. The kids had worked really hard for the fundraising and they needed that increase of rate at the hotel to be included in our earnings. If I had not had the flat tire after midnight in the Wal-Mart parking lot, I most likely would not have seen that magazine since I had cancelled my subscription at the beginning of the year. It was a magazine that belonged to the tire shop. Romans 8:28 comes to mind…”All things work together for good for those who love God, for those who are called according to His purpose.” He will even turn an inconvenient late-night flat tire into a wonderful blessing for a group of 13 young people! That’s so precious to me. He loves us so much that even the things we encounter that are unpleasant can be turned into something good…all because he thinks we are special, His beloved. So, the next time you are changing a tire after dark, cleaning up paint that your 4 year old spilled on the carpet, or sweeping up the birthday cake you dropped on the floor three hours before the party, God is very creative. His ways are not our ways, and He will show you the silver lining in every dark cloud. I just never cease to be amazed by the methods He chooses to show me that not only does He love me, but, hey, He likes me…and He likes you too!

Lifesavers and Other Tidbits

Patience. People, I’m telling you that patience is overrated. Sometimes you just need to walk up to the offending person look them straight in the eye, call them an idiot, and just rare back and smack ‘em real good! Okay, so maybe that wouldn’t be the most Christlike thing to do, but admit it…you giggled somewhere down inside yourself when you read that. We all have those thoughts from time to time…especially those of you who have teenagers in your house.
What is the deal with teenagers? I have three: Alex, Christopher, and Jonathan. Don’t get me wrong, I have amazing boys. They are smart. They are talented. They aren’t hard on the eyes…I mean, really, they look like their mother. I am, however, firmly convinced, though that whilst a young person approaches his or her 12th birthday, aliens from another world send spies to our planet to research the human adolescent mind. Apparently they are just as baffled with their little alien teenagers. Around twelve years old those little alien spies only buzz a round a little and occasional remove their brains for further study and return them hoping the parents of those kids won’t notice the bumbling idiotic behavior exuding from their once cherubic children. I’m on to them, I tell ya. And as the year passes, those little intergalactic spies get bolder. Somewhere around the young person’s 13th birthday, they somehow remove the brain completely. I personally think they suck it out through the ear while they are sleeping or something. This deduction was only made after the three time experience. Here’s what happens: one night you will kiss little Bobby good-night, and the following morning, a strange shell of a creature will emerge from the bedroom. Now apparently what really occurs is that in place of the human brain that once resided inside his gorgeous little head is secured an expanse of knowledge exceeding that of Solomon, Arostotle, and Einstein combined. Let’s face it, we as parents become stammering, drooling morons when that transformation occurs. When you have three teenagers living in your home, one can only imagine how incredibly lacking in mental capacity you feel. I’m telling you,. I’m considering quitting my job, withdrawing my boys from school, investing in some sort of research lab and letting them find the answers to all of the problems in the universe, thus securing my financial security. I think it will work, and that little log cabin secluded out in the woods with a pond and three horses sounds really great right about now. It is my understanding from speaking with other parents whose children are now adults that I need to strike while the iron is hot because this window of heightened intellect eventually ends when the aliens return the human brain somewhere around the age of 25. I’m thinking they could solve a lot of problems in 10-12 years. Cure Cancer. Reverse Global Warming. Clarify a reason why men can’t bring themselves to put the toilet seat down after they use it during the night…I’m telling you, a wet tushie following a plunge into the toilet really tries that patience I’m supposed to possess as a wife and mother. Can I get an “Amen!” from all the wives and mothers, please? These are serious issues, people. We need to utilize the vast knowledge and wisdom of our teens while they still know everything. Okay, so maybe I’m exaggerating a bit, but you know that some of these thoughts have crossed your mind.
If you are approaching this particular era in your life, or if you are already smack dab in the middle of raising teenagers, I beg you, no, I implore you…DO NOT PRAY FOR PATIENCE…and I’ll tell you why. You see, the only way to develop patience is to try your patience. Trials and tribulations must be endured and dealt with in order for that little patience well to fill up. Some people have patience by the bucket load, but with all the stuff I endured whilst filling only a thimble of patience, I am pretty sure I’d spend a stint in Levenworth Prison for committing murder or worse in a padded cell for losing my mind if I endured the trials worthy of bucket loads of patience. I pray for wisdom. I mean, Solomon did it, and he is still known as the wisest man in all of history. I’ve not found a sinister plot of trials and turmoil attached to that particular prayer, yet, so for the time being, that is my suggestion. Wisdom. That’s what you pray for, not patience. Wisdom, yes. Patience, no. Are you picking up what I’m laying down, here. Although, if I find out that “Confucious say, in order to swim in wisdom, one must first clothe himself in the suit & flippers of patience,” I’m going to hunt that little dude down and refer back to the opening of this chapter and beat the improper English out of him.
Unfortunately, I’m afraid our children sometimes make decisions that seem insane to us because of the way we handle situations. My dad used to say that children will do in excess what parents do in moderation. Uh Oh!! I’m in trou….ble! I distinctly remember a few times that I called some one a crazy person for cutting me off in traffic. I may have put it in words that aren’t as polite as that, but I made the assumption that they did what they did on purpose. I could have taken it as an opportunity to teach my children something. I could have pointed out why it was dangerous for a driver to make that sort of mistake so maybe when my children get behind a wheel they will think better of it. Better yet, I could have taught them by example to let things that are not important just roll off their back, but, no, I didn’t think before I reacted. That was my problem. I reacted when I should have responded. A good response would have been to simply slow down a bit and let the person pull in so he could make his needed turn to go home to his family. By reacting, I made an assumption about a complete stranger and I taught my children that you handle stress by blowing up. I also remember a time when I came home from a long day of work in dire need of peace and quiet. On that day, the boys had a track meet, and my daughter had a super terrific day in preschool and all four of them were excited to tell me about the day’s events at the same time. Instead of simply asking them to talk one at a time and listening intently to them, hanging on every word, I was impatient with them and spoke a bit too harshly. Okay, so I raved like a mad woman, but I should have handled it differently. All the while, my children were watching and learning how to handle a similar situation when they are parents. I taught them to worry only about what they needed that day. Shame on me. Patience sure would have been handy then. Other parents deal with different issues of moderation: drinking, spousal abuse, overspending, gossiping, demanding perfection, pornography, verbal abuse, and the list can go on and on. What we as parents have to realize is that everything we do will one day be played out in the lives of our children in one way or another with our grandchildren as the recipients of those behaviors. Of course they have the option to make a different decision, but what if their thought process is, “My parents did it, and I turned out okay.” Our kids, even though they go thru stages of thinking we are complete flaming imbeciles, value our system of parenting. We are their greatest teachers, and we don’t require a four to twelve year college degree to claim the opportunity. We certainly need to make an effort to better understand the impact our actions have on our children.
So, the next time you scream like a maniac at some unsuspecting violator of your vehicular space on the highway, keep in mind that little Susie and Bobby are in the back seat soaking in the way to handle situations. Okay, so maybe it would be okay to pray for a bit of patience if you are careful in your prayers, but if you do, allow me to make this disclaimer: If you pray for that thing that is such a virtue, strap yourself in for the ride of your life, honey, because God is faithful to hear and answer your prayers. I still pray for wisdom…wisdom for the right words to say in a difficult situation, wisdom for the best way to handle a hurtful situation with my teenagers, and wisdom as to how to get my seven year old to clean her room. That is a whole other issue. If you have a teenager who has solved that universal problem, please call me. Yes, patience is virtue. It is very important. Wisdom, on the other hand is a life saver. The bible says in Proverbs 3:15, “Happy is the person who finds wisdom. Wisdom is more precious than silver; it brings more wealth than gold. With her right hand, wisdom brings you long life, and with her left, wealth prosperity.” Wisdom. That’s the ticket…anyway, that’s my story, and I’m stickin’ to it!

My Journey Back To Toddlerhood

Are you aware that airline pilots are elusive little creatures? I was unaware of that snippet of knowledge until the end of 2007. I had surprised Chad with tickets for the two of us to visit his parents over the New Year holiday and his birthday. With great excitement and anticipation we boarded our flight in Oklahoma City bound for the Quad Cities Airport in Moline, Illinois by way of Atlanta Georgia. For the record, the geographical route made absolutely no sense to me, but the connecting flight saved us a couple hundred dollars, so I jumped at it. That flight left the runway just a little late due to a necessary de-icing of the plane. Now I must admit that it unnerved me somewhat to know that if that pink foamy stuff they were spraying all over the plane were not being utilized that our plane could hurtle to the earth ending in a fiery mass on the runway. I was so not loving that mental image, so I sat patiently and willingly as they removed the ice from the big metal tube with wings. After all, my wonderful husband and I were together…alone, and without parental responsibility. Nothing would spoil my mood. The flight landed late in Atlanta…just late enough that our connecting flight gave up on us and left without our seats occupied. They obviously didn’t know who we are. My thought process was, “It’s okay. We are adults and we can handle this.” We headed for the phone station to receive further instruction from our airline. How fortunate we were to be connected to a very sweet woman who seemed sensitive to our plight. We searched for another flight north, but the airport to which we were flying had completely closed for the day due to a northern snowstorm.
Now let me fill you in…Chad and I had been married for nearly ten years and had never been to see his family around the holidays. Why? He was concerned that we would get caught in bad weather. I always responded with, “Don’t be silly! We’d be fine.” At that particular moment in the Atlanta Airport, I was gagging on the bitter taste of crow. He was right. The weather was an issue. I just hate that!
Anyway, we were to be rerouted to a city we had never heard of, but apparently was only a couple of hours from his parent’s home. Fortunately we had taken Chad’s new Garmin GPS on the trip with us…no doubt a quickening of the Lord. Feeling there was still hope for a wonderful trip, we took what was offered to us like children facing a plate full of spinach and brussel sprouts and headed for our gate. Within 30 minutes that green “on time” notation next to our flight number changed to a daunting red and the words morphed into the dreaded word “delayed”…30 minutes, then 45 minutes, and then two hours. After eight hours of waiting through various delays, we were told the reason for the delays. They were looking for our flight crew! HOW do you lose a crew of FOUR PEOPLE?!?!? With each delay, my nerves grew as frayed as a string in a 2 year old hooded sweatshirt on a college dorm room floor. My emotions were dammed up because I am, after all, the “eternal optimist”!! I had to keep my cool! I was considering a carefully but sternly worded letter to the corporate offices of the offending airline…a letter that would never be penned. I’m not certain what the trigger was, but something very minor blasted a gaping hole in that dam of emotion, rendering my face an aqueduct of mascara infused waterfall. I cried and cried and cried and cried…and then I cried some more. ”They’ve ruined your birthday trip,” I wailed. Imagine, if you will, a toddler crying without inhibition, head thrown back, mouth agape, howling an infantile dramatization. Of course that wasn’t the actual scene, but it certainly was the movie playing in my mind. I felt like the victim of a serious injustice. Fueling that emotion was my stark raving calm husband, who had transformed into a rational and comforting lunatic. How dare he! There I was amidst my emotional meltdown, feeling fully entitled to the moment of insanity, and he was saying everything was going to be okay. ”After all,” he crooned, “we are here together and isn’t that part of the beauty of this trip? We never get time alone together.” I felt much like our oldest son must have felt when I walked away from him mid-fit in Wal-Mart when he was 2 years old, exposed and completely ridiculous. He was right. Man! I really hate that. I sniffed, gathered my breath, wiped my snotty nose on my sleeve (not really), and decided to be a big girl. The flight was finally successful. We were able to locate a ridiculously overpriced rental car, which almost sent Chad into a similar downward spiral, and after a well guided tour of southern Illinois, arrived safely in Princeton, Iowa around 3:00 a.m. There was no less than two foot of snow on the ground and I was absolutely in Heaven!! We sneaked into the house of his parents who had no clue we were coming for a visit, hoping to avoid the business end of a shotgun. We creeped up the stairs, strategically avoiding the noisy steps. We stealthily maneuvered our way into the bed with moves like a sleek black jungle cat only to be found out by the resounding “SQEAK!” that the offended bed released upon our rest upon it. My father-in-law was up the stairs and in the doorway in a flash…okay, so he very cautiously approached the door, popped his head around the corner and whispered in a raspy demand, “Who’s there?!” Chad gleefully answered, “Hi, Dad! Merry Christmas!” His parents were overjoyed, although, I fear I should prepare for a surprise visit sometime in the future since turnabout is fair play. Oddly enough, my “flight plan” had placed us at our final destination about 8 hours later than a road trip that would have cost about a third of the cost of airline tickets and a rental car would have.
Today as I write, I am sitting in the airport in Phoenix, Arizona. I have been here since 7:30 for a flight that was to leave at 9:30. I take that “arrive two hours early” suggestion very seriously. It is now 11:00 a.m. Why the delay? They can’t find our pilot and one of the flight attendants. Upon the announcement, I felt that toddler begin to rear her over-emotional head. Thoughts began to run through my mind…”Hello! We’re in an airport! Grab a pilot and let’s go! I’ll even give up my fizzy drink and quarter ounce bag of peanuts…leave the flight attendant behind!” I quickly decided another emotional meltdown would do no good and sent the toddler back to bed with a cup of warm milk. Awww! I’m growing up. Chad would be so proud! Even though I miss my sweet husband and kids desperately, I know I am going home today. My anticipation will endure. Funny that our relationship with God can be much like these two very similar situations. We have two choices when faced with daily circumstances—one is positive; the other is negative. We can choose to throw our sucker in the dirt, convincing our selves that life is just out to get us. Or we can view it as a mini-vacation from the outside world, an opportunity to just relax and accept what has been placed in front of us. In December, I chose the first. Today, I chose the second, catching up on some reading and doing some writing. Now, before you get the impression that I had a three-month transformation from the toddlerhood to adulthood, allow me to clarify…I haven’t. Just ask my family. Today was just a good day. The maturity fairies found favor in me and equipped me well. Tomorrow could be an entirely different story. But for today, I am embracing that verse in Proverbs 5:3. “Lean not on your own understanding, but in all you ways acknowledge him and he will direct your paths.” I know there was a purpose for my experiences, I just don’t understand them. God does, though. He knows it all, every bump in the road, every curve, and every hill. You see, there is plenty I would do differently if I were in charge. Today, my goal is the same in regard to spirit and personal geography—home. I want to go home. God is gracious enough to lead me toward both earthly and heavenly home. I am blessed. I have an internal GPS, so to speak…now if I would just always turn it on. I am, however, still going to submit my suggestion that pilots and flight attendants be equipped with bells around their necks, because this business of losing full-grown people, especially really important ones like pilots in airports, simply must stop. Are we certain Amelia Earhart wasn’t an airline pilot? Check the logs, people! She may be held captive in some remote airport terminal somewhere. It’s just all a mystery to me.