Big and Small Things

So, last Friday night I lost my keys.

Maybe you’re the type of person who never loses anything, but I’m going to tell you this story anyway, because maybe it applies to you in some other way.

So, right: Last Friday night we attended a Wine/Golf outing that was a ton of fun. And, of course, since I wasn’t drinking, I was the sober one. If there were other sober people there, I didn’t see them. Yet, somehow, I managed to be the only one [to my knowledge] to wake up the next morning with no car keys. [We used Lee’s keys to get home, in case you are very confused right now.]

And this really upset me. Do you get upset when you lose things? I’ll even say I was beyond upset. I was frustrated and angry. I tore the house apart, called everywhere I’d been, accused Lee of being the one to lose them, everything.

But I also prayed about it.

Now, there have been times in my life that praying over lost car keys would have been something I’d roll my eyes about: Yeah. Good luck with that. God reeeeeally cares about your stupid car keys.

But I’ve learned in recent years that God cares about all sorts of things, and it’s really not up to me to decide what may or may not be worthy of God’s care. So, I prayed about it.

Dear God, 
Please please please please please let my keys turn up somehow. If anyone can make it happen, I know you can.

PS. If you can’t make my keys turn up, could you take away my anger and show me the lesson here?
PPS. I wasn’t even DRINKING.


And then I let it go. One or the other of those two outcomes would occur, and I was content to wait and see which one it was.

On Thursday night, the YMCA called. A lawn service man had found my keys in the street, called the number on the back of the membership card attached to my key chain, and would like to return them.

On Friday night, I had my keys in my palm and tears in my eyes. And I got my lesson, too.



So, this turned up in my stocking this past Christmas:

I love it, but it comes with a story that is difficult to tell.

You know how they say that scent is the strongest sense tied to memory? I’ve always felt that to be true, don’t you? Anyway, this philosophy bath cream also showed up in my stocking a few years ago, and opening the top for the first time in the shower a few weeks ago sent me back in time.

It was January 7, 2008, a few weeks after Christmas, and I was standing in the shower at the Venetian in Las Vegas. We were there [among other reasons] to celebrate Lee’s birthday, which was the next day. But on this morning, I was standing in the shower crying. We had just discovered that our latest [was it the 4th? 5th? it all runs together eventually] round of fertility treatments had been a bust. I was frustrated. I was sad. I felt as though God had handed me a rotten lot in life.

You would think, given the sad [and yet automatic] association I have with this particular scent, that smelling it again after all this time would make me sad. But it doesn’t. Because, as you know, the epilogue to that day in the shower is that a little over ten months later, Mary Bullock was born. She is [I know! YOU KNOW!] the light of my little life.

If you’ve ever had a miscarriage or struggled with fertility and then had a child, I’m sure you know how this feels: every day with her is miraculous. When I look at her, I am daily, minute-ly, reminded not only of the miracle that is human life, but also of how God miraculously turns pain into joy. Just like that. Not on my schedule, of course, but on His.

And that is what I think of when I smell this smell, which is called [what else?] Grace.  I remember the pain, yes, but mostly I remember that after that came joy of the sort I had never envisioned.

I can always use that reminder.

The Time Traveler’s Wife

I went to see The Time Traveler’s Wife today by myself, which is probably better, because I definitely cried. Not the all out bawling that I did when I read the book (both times I read the book, actually), but enough tears to be embarrassed about in front of other moviegoers. Good thing I had a wad of napkins leftover from my (buttered! yeah!) popcorn.

So–my review, in a nutshell, no spoilers: If you have read the book and loved it, or even if you were lukewarm towards it (cough cough, KATE!) you will probably enjoy the movie. It really was quite nice. Rachel McAdams thankfully did not have to put on a southern accent, and her performance was lovely. I was worried that she would do to this movie what Anne Hathaway did to The Devil Wears Prada. But she didn’t! Whew.

If you have not read the book, we are probably not friends.

Just kidding!
[Sort of.]

If you haven’t read the book, or if in general you have a problem willfully suspending your disbelief (I mean, hello? the title involves TIME TRAVEL), you should probably skip it. The movie pretty much assumes that you understand and accept the premise from the outset, and it does nothing to attempt to convince you of the feasibility of the plot. And the grousing that you’re likely to do afterward will ruin it for me. So just go see The Hangover again or something and don’t burst my bubble! Perhaps there is another movie out that you would enjoy more.

Stayed up too late

So, with Lee out of town, I’ve taken the opportunity to barely get up from the computer. Nice. I came across this blog and this blog and ok if you’re forcing it out of me, I may have cried. But only a little, because even though some of it was incredibly sad, mostly it made me think about how much I have loved learning how to be MB’s mama.

While I was waxing nostalgic, I started clicking back through the last ten months worth of pictures and came across a few gems, like this one.

I specifically remember taking this picture and then calling Lee at work to exclaim that Mary Bullock was a FINK, one not to be trusted. She has somehow managed to escape both the top and bottom of her swaddle (later to be temporarily out-finked by the Miracle That Is The Miracle Blanket, but this was pre-Miracle Blanket). (And don’t go thinking that Mary Bullock ever took a pacifier just from looking at this picture, because she is just pretending here.)

Oh, how much I have learned, and how much I have still to learn.