Victoria Advocate, A Different Perspective
So I’m back to using one calendar. Last year, besides my planner, I put up a gigantic calendar so I wouldn’t forget important dates. Never mind that I had to rearrange my office because it took up one entire wall. Forgetting an event simply wasn’t an option. Until it happened. Thank goodness the receptionist called me the day before to remind me I was supposed to speak for chapel at Faith Academy. I whooped in surprise, horrified that a speaking event was so close with nary a clue what I would say, but goodness knows, I have plenty of experience trusting the Lord for words, written or verbal.
And, true to Who He says He is, God gave me a topic—one that’s been on my heart a lot lately. I accepted Christ as a young girl, but between immaturity and defiance, my actions didn’t always line up with how Christ would have me act. They still don’t. I still get riled up over a real or imagined slight and often prefer doing things my way as opposed to the Christ-way. At any given moment, my attitude can stink worse than a dumpster. It takes effort to get back on track, but I’d rather do that than stew in my own thoughts. That’s why a regular quiet time is so important to me. It’s a daily opportunity to focus on what’s important, as opposed to wandering back to the same old ruts.
The kids seemed to enjoy what I had to say. It didn’t hurt that I had two giveaways, one for each gender. Apparently, I passed muster because the receptionist asked if I would come again next fall. Oh, how that blessed my heart! After many years of teaching, getting to be around kids again is fun, especially when I leave afterward, free from the other responsibilities.
The other highlight of the week was on Saturday, when my daughter came with her three girls. Our son was back in town, and he brought his sons as well. The first thing we did was erupt the volcano in the backyard that our eleven-year-old grandson and his grandfather had put together from a kit. Pretty impressive.
Then we were off to get hamburgers for a picnic at Ethel Lee Tracy park. A bit windy, but the kids promptly heeded the siren call of the playscape. The merry-go-round rule seemed if they weren’t in danger of flying off, it wasn’t going fast enough.
Fortunately, my mom lives close by, so we swung over to her place. Gigi stays prepared for such visits. The boys opened the “boy box” and the girls opened the “girl-box” and found all sorts of geegaws to play with. Of course, when Uncle Phil modeled the tiara and explained about the foreign coins, they loved it. The best part was when Les, Gigi’s “special friend,” took them for a ride in the golf cart. As they waited on the back end, David, the oldest, held Ellie, the youngest, on his lap. Until his legs went numb. When he set her down, she cried until I explained she was afraid of getting left behind. So he put her back on his lap and wrapped his arms around her. We all agreed that Ellie had the best seatbelt.
As I sit at my desk this week, it’s cold. Soup cooks on the stove downstairs, courtesy of my husband. Anxiety wants to tug at my heart over two book launches, a wedding in Brazil, and a new writing deadline. However, I choose to concentrate on the facts—I’m safe and warm, buoyed by the lovely memories we made over the weekend, and I’m writing my column.
It’s a wonderful life.