Reductionist Thinking

            I’m glad God is no genie.  Otherwise, I’d be in big trouble.

            For instance, a few minutes ago I was praying silently as I made my bed:  “God, help me not to lose what I’ve gained.”  I was thinking of the progress I’ve made in the last year or so in healthier eating habits.  But if God was a genie instead of God, he would take my words at face value, and I’d be supernaturally stuck with the pounds I’ve packed back on!

            Think how wonderful it is that God knows not just our words and not just our actions but our hearts.  He knows our motivations better than we do.  He knows what is prompted by love and what is not.  And though our hearts can so easily be sullied by sin and sidetracked from his purposes, he still loves us.  He accepts what we offer even as he refines and redeems our very selves.

            And in my case, I’m counting on him helping me to reduce as well.

The Murphys

            It’s a small world after all.  To think friends here in Washington would know the Murphys!

            Back in Colby, Kansas, I met John Murphy shortly after my husband, Jack, had his second hip surgery.  In fact, Mr. Murphy camped out in our living room most of one summer and part of the following fall—until Jack recovered from his third surgery and was ready to boot him out of the house.  However, I didn’t mind having Mr. Murphy as a guest.  His assistance more than made up for the extra work he created for me.

            It was reassuring to know, night or day, Mr. Murphy was always there.  I must admit that some people questioned his extended use of our living room accommodations.  Surely, a few of the kind women from church who delivered meals to us during Jack’s convalescence wondered why our guest stayed in the living room.  They probably would have been surprised to know that Jack virtually lived in his mauve lift chair, which I purchased the morning after our return from the hospital because the couch and the bed were too low for Jack’s temporary hip. 

For a long time, Jack didn’t mind the company in the front room.  Nor did I.  Now, don’t get me wrong:  I like my privacy as much as the next person.  In fact, I left Jack and Mr. Murphy alone on a regular basis.  It seemed they often had issues to settle between themselves.  Invariably, once those transactions had taken place, I was called in to mop up the mess, as it were, and I learned things I didn’t necessarily want to know about their business.

            So, imagine my surprise when I found out just today that Mr. Murphy has a very large family, and one of his sisters lives right here in Oak Harbor.  She has better accommodations than Mr. Murphy did:  the privacy of a bedroom far surpasses the potential open front door of a living room.  I understand that she, too, is a temporary guest. 

I suspect that the Murphys have a family business going.  You might know them by their French surname, Commode; or their Colonial-era moniker, Chamber Pot.  Some of you may have met their lowly second cousin, Bedpan.  Finally, if you keep up with all things British, you may even know the Murphys' rich ancestor, Royal Lavatory.

A Week of It

            The Desert Fathers often referred to it.  Kathleen Norris wrote a book about it.  Therefore, I must be in good company because I’m in the middle of it:  acedia, “the noonday demon.”

            Translated into plain old English, acedia is a siege of spiritual lethargy.  Mental health experts call it depression.  Fibromyalgia sufferers call it fibro fatigue.  An article I just read calls it one possible result of oxidative stress (http://www.fmnetnews.com/latest-news/getting-to-the-root-of-fibromyalgia).  I call it all of the above.

            Each morning I vow to overcome it, and I do:  from mid-morning to noon.  About the time the sun is shining the brightest, my batteries need recharging, and they don’t seem to be solar-powered.  I plod through another unproductive day, and the stack on my desk grows a little deeper, the kitchen grows a little messier, and the dust bunnies grow a little larger.

            I could be working on writing-related projects that I normally love:  blogging, editing our church history project, proofreading my daughter’s book manuscript.  Sometimes I manage a little time on one of those during the afternoon.  But by evening I am ready to play computer solitaire while I watch the news and then read for a few hours.

            Whatever you want to call it, I am trying to get over it.  Yesterday I took a walk on the beach, enjoying the sun and brisk breeze, the sound of waves breaking, and the sight of seagulls gathering.  Today I bagged up clothing items that I either never wear or that no longer fit me.  Tomorrow I’ll go to one of the farmer’s markets in the area.

            Right now I’m thinking of what will be easiest to make for supper.   After we eat, I’ll watch the news, finish the novel I started reading last night, and do my devotions at bedtime.  I do not like the spiritual doldrums, but the book I’m reading on praying the 23^rd Psalm reminds me that the Shepherd is near even when he seems far away.  I hope that if I keep listening, I’ll hear his voice.

Waking Up

            Not only did I eventually sleep soundly, but I learned something as well.  Too bad it wasn’t in my dreams.

            When I woke up this morning, a vague memory followed me out of bed.  It took but a second to verify:  there were my purses scattered on the floor. 

            As I popped my morning Prevacid, something else surfaced.  “Oh no,” I thought.  “Surely not.”  The longer I pondered, the more I sensed that this was no dream.  But first I made my coffee, took my other morning meds, and drank my morning protein shake.  Only then did I head toward my computer. 

            The first sign that I had been here earlier—and now I remember seeing 1:13 AM on my screen—was my credit card.  Waking my computer, I see the second sign typed in the Google search box:  “eharmonyh.”  It figures I added an extra letter in my addled state.  Now to the site.   Yup, it looks just like it does in my hazy, dreamlike memory banks. 

            Speaking of banks, maybe I had better check my credit card activity . . .  sure enough, there the charge is under “pending.”  What in the world have I done?

            I’ll tell you.  With this current flare of my fibromyalgia symptoms, I decided last night I needed a really good night’s sleep with no nocturnal awakenings, so I took a full dose of Ambien rather than my usual half dose.  True, I never woke during the night.  Also true:  it took a long time before dreamland claimed me, and instead of relaxing in bed, evidently I was busy taking inventory of my purse collection and signing up for a six-month subscription to eharmony.  Admittedly, a few years ago I had subscribed, but let my membership lapse when I realized that a relationship would complicate my life instead of enrich it.  Evidently, I had an Ambien lapse of judgment last night and subscribed again.

            Is this what retracing one’s steps feels like to the drinker?  Whether yea or nay, I don’t like it.  I’d rather learn from my dreams, not from any dreamlike state.  Fully awake now, I call customer care at eharmony and cancel my subscription.  Now I just need to put away my purses.

Something In Common

• The pork chops turned out tender and tasty last night instead of like leather.

• In Florida, a high school acquaintance struggles to get help for her daughter, who is having big problems.

•  My worse-than-usual pain may be due to the Tdap vaccine I had last week, stress, the foggy mornings, and/or allergies. 

• The least expensive but highly rated portable recumbent exercise bike costs about $150.  I’ve packed the pounds back on.  Maybe I could pedal them off.

What do these statements have in common?  Help from the Internet, a wonderful resource for cooking, communication, health information, and shopping.  Armed with all this browsing information, I am ready for the day:

• When coffee and breakfast did not revive me this morning, I went back to bed.  By ten a.m. I felt somewhat human.

•   I sent a message to the Florida friend, offering my virtual listening ear.

•   I’m still thinking about the bike, though I’m going to be checking Craigslist and Whidbey Freecycle instead of Amazon.

•  And dinner tonight will be a repeat performance of last night:  pan seared pork chops.