What the Next Big One won't Take Away

     I sit contentedly with at my computer. The cat is on my lap and I’m sipping coffee from my favorite coffee cup. All is right with my world. There are no troubles to face here.

In my young age, I didn’t know how to deal with my troubles well. I would sit in school, or more likely in my room at home, with my math book open in front of me. The numbers would be stacked up like torturous pillars of confusion and agony. I would stare at the math problems and not even be able to remember my basic multiplication facts. My mind would slide away from the math book and come to another place. I’m not proud of where I went, which was where I was beating up the authors of the math textbook. I would sit at my desk at home or school. The math problems would vanish and there I would be inflicting injury on the three people whose names appeared on the title page of my write-in textbook. That was how I thought I could solve my problems. And in truth, the math anxiety did go away when I ignored the math problems and went somewhere else. Why wouldn’t I think it was a good solution?

     This was about the same time that I was experiencing growing pains, both physical and emotional. Not knowing how to deal with feeling left out and lonely, I created other worlds to occupy, which I’ve talked about before. But there was something else I did too. I imagined that there was a place somewhere where people’s troubles and problems physically existed. There was a big building somewhere, kept under guard obviously. And sitting on display were little objects resembling cold remedy capsules. Each of these capsules was the physical manifestations of an individual’s troubles. And here was the great part: All I had to do was infiltrate that building and squash mine, and that would end my troubles. My life would be trouble-free. That was my solution for how to be happy.

     I don’t want to blame anyone or anything for my lack of healthy coping skills back then. And if I could go back, I don’t think I would want to change anything. My childhood fostered a hard-working imagination and it’s easy to have empathy for kids today.

     Of course today I still encounter little things that trouble me. And deep down, I hope that’s the worst that happens to me. I feel like I’ve paid my dues in the genuine pain and disaster department and nothing catastrophic ought to ever happen to me again. But I know the truth. Losing a daughter to cancer does not get my ticket punched and exempt me from further tragedy.

     I think about when I was going through the toughest times of my life and I did have good coping skills. I prayed a lot. The worse off my life was, the closer I got to God. And now that I’m kind of coasting, my prayer life can be rather lukewarm.

     Bad things happen to good people. While God does not stamp and OK on those things, He never wastes a hurt. The result of something horrible happening in my life could be that I will draw closer to Him. But I can wait for the next thing to happen, or I can choose to draw close to Him now.

So, my coffee pot broke last week. This was not the next tragic thing. But when I posted it on Facebook, not only did I get an outpouring of sympathy, but three friends offered me a coffee pot they had. This was a reminder that even when the little things happen, people are there for me.

So something might happen in my life. Like “The Big One”, the huge earthquake scientists predict will hit someday, it’s not a question of if, but of when. Southern California had a few tremblers last week and it can make me edgy. But in truth, I will never really lose what’s important.

For I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from his love. Death can’t, and life can’t. The angels won’t, and all the powers of hell itself cannot keep God’s love away. Our fears for today, our worries about tomorrow,  or where we are—high above the sky, or in the deepest ocean—nothing will ever be able to separate us from the love of God demonstrated by our Lord Jesus Christ when he died for us.   Romans 8:38-39 (Living Bible)

Now this morning as I drank my last cup of pour-through coffee, (my new coffee-pot arrived in the mail Saturday)I had my cat on my lap and was feeling content. Then there was a plop. The rubber on the bottom of my coffee cup fell in my lap. My favorite coffee cup that holds lots of coffee and keeps it warm with a lid and I use exclusively every morning when I write, it’s falling apart.  Another little trouble to deal with. A very little one and it’s pretty amusing that the day I get a new coffee pot, my old coffee cup begins to self-destruct. I thank God for little reminders that nothing I think I own will ever last. I just need to remember what is His will last forever.

A wet filter basket

     I was talking to Prajna last night, kind of lamenting that I had been bouncing around some blog topics in my head but never settled on anything. Lately I have liked to write a rough draft on Sunday afternoons, but was not able to yesterday. So here it was, Sunday evening and I wasn’t sure what I wanted to say. I told Prajna about how little I’ve actually been thinking about blogging lately. I have been actually enjoying working on my second draft of Sidewinder.

The last time I worked on my novel was Thursday morning and I had to quit writing when 7am was rolling around and it was time to feed the animals and think about breakfast for the family. I wasn’t ready to stop. I was wishing that I could write at night like I used to. There was no quitting time then. Write ‘till I can’t. I mentioned to Prajna that maybe I could stay up late one night writing. She didn’t care for the idea and reminded me that I am rigidly fixed in routine. I almost never stay up past 11 anymore, and am usually up at 6. If I stayed up to the wee hours of the morning, I might still not sleep in, I would be tired and cranky all day, more than usual even, and everyone’s day could be ruined.

I thanked Prajna for the reminder and went out to set up the coffee pot for the next morning. A horrific surprise awaited me there. Someone had used the coffee pot that morning and not washed and dried it. With the filter basket wet, I could not put the next day’s fresh coffee into it for a delayed start the next morning. And I the filter basket is ribbed and ridged in a way that it’s impossible to hand-dry. It only takes lots of time to dry. But I was tired and didn’t want to stay up a lot later. My routine was disturbed. I felt justified in losing my mind. But I held it together. My daughter Sarah rebuked me for blustering over such a first world problem. I poured the water in the coffee pot and set aside the measured coffee for the next morning where I would have to make the effort to place the fresh coffee in the basket and push START, and then wait for several minutes while for the coffee to brew. Sarah experienced extreme amusement at my fuss and she remarked how much I loved routine too.

Last week I was sharing with a friend how much I loved my job. I love to work alone and listen to my iPod. I love the predictability, the routine. My friend listened and informed me that it wasn’t routine that I loved the most. He told me what it was that I really loved, not just about my job, but every day. I didn’t like what he told me, but it was too true to ignore.

I love control. Like the coffee pot, I set it every evening that I want coffee the next morning. When I get up, there it is waiting for me. Everything is where I left it. I don’t have to fuss, or even think hard. I don’t stress, and therefore I don’t really rely on God too much for my peace of mind.

I confessed my love for control just last November and have already forgotten it. I don’t remember how deep I delved into it last time, but I remember when I was dealing with Naomi being sick, how I flew into rages when things were not in my control. I hate to think of myself as a violent bully. And I don’t think I really was, nevertheless, I acted wrong. I know that I’ve come a long way in dealing with anger, but I still do not like to not have control of my life.

So I’m grateful that the coffee pot wasn’t in condition for me to set it up. Yes, it was nice to get my mind around a blog topic I had been working over in my head. But I was reminded, by the coffee pot and by Sarah, that I take way too much joy from having things work out the way I want them to and not enough joy from important things.

By important things, well I could go on and on about my blessings. But in addition to all of that, just 10 years ago I was still an emotional and mental wreck where nothing was stable or predictable. I definitely wouldn’t have been able to eventually laugh about my weeping over the coffee pot.

So I had to wait for the coffee to be ready and I still managed. The sun still came up and here I am. Still learning and sharing what I’ve learned. By the time the sun goes down tonight I will have dealt with minor victories and defeats. But I’m thankful I have the tools to deal with them both and loved ones who don’t tolerate my tirades.  

Why I get up

     This doesn’t sound right, so bear with me until I explain it through. Prajna was gone for three days and two nights last week. I thought I could get along alright. I was just concerned that I might have trouble falling asleep at night. It turned out that I dropped right off both nights. It was the mornings that I wasn’t prepared for.

     Each evening I set the coffee pot to start brewing at 5:45 a.m. Next morning am usually up and about to hear it uttering its last gurgles as the smell of fresh coffee begins to creep through the front room. So what I’m saying is that most mornings, I am up at least by six in the morning, maybe before. Mondays I either write my blog or polish what I composed the previous day before posting it. Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, I write whatever my current project is. Right now I’m working on my memoir which I have gone on about quite a bit here already here. The other three days I get up early but don’t write and am over at Yucaipa Christian Church by 8:00 am either to work or because it’s Sunday.

     So Prajna was gone Tuesday and Wednesday morning last week. I woke up a little before 6 o’clock in the morning the way I always do, with no alarm clock. And both mornings I sighed and didn’t get up until after 7. The two mornings I woke up without Prajna next to me are the two mornings I stayed in bed. That really looks like when she’s not there I am content to lie there and when she’s in bed I just want to get out of there. That’s what it looks like, but that’s not what it really is about.

     When I realized that I was staying in bed, I felt I needed to examine why I did this. I knew it couldn’t be what it looked like. And it didn’t take a lot of contemplation to realize why I was staying in bed when she was gone. I love Prajna a lot. And knowing she is there is my motivation to strive to achieve.

     It’s like this: The easy thing to do is flip the pillow to the cool side and hit the internal snooze alarm. My brains can do astounding mathematics early in the morning and calculate how many minutes there are left to sleep. The difficult thing to do is shake off the blissful sleep and lift myself out of bed, and it isn’t even winter yet. Once I am writing I feel great, especially when the coffee starts to kick in. The transfer from horizontal to vertical can feel life-ending sometimes, but just about every morning I do it. Even on mornings I don’t write I get up. How and why? Because I have her in my life. And because I have Prajna in my life, what I do matters.

     This sounds a little codependent, finding my purpose in another person. And yes, it is a little. What would I do without her? Well, I’ve discovered the answer to that. I would stay in bed. I will try to keep this adoration healthy and not put my whole identity into another person and I will not demand or expect her to be my reason for being, or even writing. When it all comes down to it all, I write for myself. Having Prajna in my life is a blessing that makes me feel significant. Difficult things are worth doing.

     I am also blessed with the progress I have made on my memoir. It took several months and 24,775 words to get Naomi in Maui Memorial Hospital, she hasn’t been diagnosed yet. But I don’t regret any of this bloated first draft. I have made some astounding discoveries while writing it. I think that stepping back to look at one’s life will inevitably provide new insight. And insight is what led to this blog entry.

     So last week I didn’t write much. What I did write was feeble. I have 7 more weeks to work on my memoir before taking a break from it. I have another project in November that I plan to write every day of the month. I won’t go any more into that now. That’s not what this entry is about.

     I just wanted this to be about how a simple examination of my life revealed something that I wasn’t really aware of. Prajna is one of the reasons I feel I am able to accomplish things. For that I am grateful.