Refine Me Please

I'm being refined. And my attitude lately has been one of mild irritation, frustration, and a desire to avoid people during this recent iron-sharpening process. Because I want it all to be organized & structured with succinct purpose & efficient mentoring by respectable teachers. I want a completion date. And a diploma for my efforts.

I know this is good for me. Who doesn't want to build character and be more patient and compassionate. I just want different people to do the refining. And I know that probably isn't going to happen. Very intentionally I'm sure. The ones who have been chosen to scrape away my pride, bad attitude, and impatience seem to be the kind of people I am least like. People like the following:

1. A union postal worker who has no chance of ever getting fired for gross incompetence or reckless driving.  God has used her multiple times. First was when the hot pink envelope my wonderful mom had sent me containing a Shoebox card and a check to buy a brand new Medela double-action breastpump did not arrive. I waited and checked the mailbox four times a day. For three weeks. What can I say, I was anxious to never have to squeeze the life out of my boobs with my bare hands ever again. 

Part of me wanted to approach our mail carrier and ask why whenever I was expecting a card that contained a check in it- it seemed to magically disappear. I dreamed of saying this very matter-of-factly without appearing sarcastic. I wanted to ask her why she drove over multiple neighbors' mailboxes with the mailtruck and then made them feel like it was their responsibility to fix it. 

But I didn't. I couldn't. So I did what any hormone-raging pregnant woman carrying twins who couldn't bend over or breathe comfortably did. I avoided confrontation and took my oversized self to see her boss. Mr. Postmaster himself. And two days after he "talked" to her- the hot pink envelope with adorable mother-to-be card magically appeared. All that was missing was the check. Seriously there was a slit in the side of the envelope. But I didn't care~ because my thoughtful mom had already stopped payment on it and mailed me another. This time there would be no messing around. Check number 2 came FedEx Express.

Now today, in the rain, I went to check the mail and saw that an oversized cardboard box had been shoved into my mailbox deeper than...I better not say. But even with part of it sticking out getting drenched, I struggled to pull it out. I might have even whispered a few words I shouldn't have under my breath while throwing my full weight around to yank and tug. When I finally got it out I discovered that the box contained fragile computer components. Ones that really shouldn't get squished or soaked.  I exercised self-control and didn't freak out as badly as I would have expected. Instead, I did it over the phone. Into the kind, loving ears of my supportive husband, who I called the second I got back into the house. And then I was fine. And miraculously - so was the stuff inside the box.

#2. Random people who recklessly drive thru parking lots in the wrong direction to steal parking spaces away from considerate people who have their blinkers on and have been waiting patiently for the Suburban leaving to buckle their seven kids into carseats. I'm not going to go into detail on this one. I actually think God knows that I appreciate walking farther because its good cardio, especially now that I don't belong to a gym. 

#3 People who hold the spot in line of someone who you never actually see. I'm not going to get into specifics. But I will never again wait in line for hours for a limited quantity the day after Thanksgiving. Not for anything.

So...now that I've shared a few of mine- who is being used to make you a more compassionate, understanding, patient person?

Nine Months

Nine more months to go. I feel it today. The uncomfortable and necessary bulge of appreciation. Niners -until Thanksgiving- that is. And yet, here we are, stuck in February, and my mind is tossing around all the things I’m thankful for.

Am I the kind of person to journal my thoughts? Not really. Thankful to have a job I love doing. Thankful to work from home. Thankful to live in a house that is far too big and nice for my simple taste. Thankful I picked up Bride Wars for four bucks the day I found out Hollywood Video was going out of business.

I am also thankful to have a guy who does the dirty work. Spider-killer. Car-washer. Computer-fixer. Someone who knows how to run his chick the perfect candlelit bubblebath and make a stellar martini. A hot and sexy guy who keeps the garage as clean as I keep the house. And sometimes, he goes way beyond all I could possibly expect and he does the unthinkable. He goes out braving snow, wind gusts, icy roads, with a low fuel light warning, and makes a journey of risk and adventure to Walmart.

Parking next to a battered car that has a screen door loosely attached to the roof, and a bumper sticker that has a spelling error in it, he clicks the lock button on my SUV’s keychain. Greetings come in the form of a grunt, from a goth teenager in a blue vest, swirling without purpose on a stool by the door. He makes his way thru the thong-laden ladies and acne-faced teens waiting in line at the pharmacy, all the way over to the aisle many men won’t even dare to pass. Women are in abundance in that aisle, along with a solo male employee, stuck stocking razors. Razor guy is careful to avoid eye contact with the man brave enough to enter by his own accord. Some of the ladies smile, others display a look of scorn and jealousy over witnessing love in its finest form.

I am at home, slung over the couch, trying to read a book that has been borrowed for longer than Bill Clinton was President. Hair in a pony-tail with freshly painted nails, can’t decide if I want Diet Coke or Sprite. I wonder which will make me feel less bloated. Neither- so I go with a glass of organic whole milk. Bad decision. If only I had chocolate chip cookies. The ringtone Adam Sandler uses in the movie, Bedtime Stories, breaks me out of my cookie fantasy. Ring. Ring. Riiiiiiing. Riiiiiing.

“Hey babe,” I say in my sweetest take-care-of-me-I-feel-awful voice.
“I don’t see the brand you told me,” he exclaims breathlessly.
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“Yeah. High demand for this stuff,” he explains.
“ Oh, sweetie. Before I forget, can you pick up some easy-bake chocolate chip cookie dough too? They keep it over by the yogurt area. ”
“Fine. What about this other THING you said you needed? You know, the THING I came here for?”
“Ohhhh that!” I say casually, “See any overnights with wings?”
“What does ultralight mean?” he responds.
“Means they are really thin. Don’t get those. They leak." I reply, rummaging thru the pantry searching for a bag of Fritos.

Of course, I’m sensitive and smart enough to sense he wants to get my cookies home to me as soon as possible. I quickly agree to a substitute and opt out of explaining or defining the language that complicates purchasing feminine hygiene products. I know better than to bore him with my irrational fears about toxic shock syndrome or my crazy philosophy on why alternating between internal and external products depending on whether its day-time or night-time resonates as logical to me.

When I hear the garage door opening, I jump up and put away the Fritos. Meeting him at the door, I give him a squeeze and a kiss, as I tell him how much I appreciate his trip to hell and back. He smirks, hands me my bags of necessities, and knows my true appreciation won’t be for another few days. How thankful can I be-nine months from Thanksgiving-except to preheat the oven, pop in Bride Wars for later, and enjoy the fact I have someone to love, a guy that appreciates me as much as I do him. A man like that is hard to come by. And I know it. The ladies in that aisle know it. Razor-guy knows it.

Love. Sacrifice. Appreciation. Now, back to this book I can't seem to get into.

Listening today to Two Is Better Than One by Boys like Girls. 
Cheers~JB