What are my choices?

Once, when getting advice from someone, in order to get me to look at the problem rationally he asked me,

"What's the worst that could happen."

That's not a really a good question to ask a person with my imagination. I would have to say the worst is usually a slow death by burning, goring, or being stretched apart by ropes and pulleys so all your limbs dislocate, tear, and then rip off.

And I don't really like to dwell on any of those ideas.

But really, when he asked me this, it was in the midst of a bad situation, where there is no time for imagination but I was only left with feelings of obliteration. I couldn't say losing ones I love or injury, because neither had much to do with the circumstance, so the worst I could come up with was:

"Jail. Never able to enter my profession again - not to mention life being put on hold indefinitely."

And he brought up the most obvious story in the Bible. Joseph. Falsely accused and thrown in jail for many years, and then raised up to second in command. The comfortable Bible story suddenly took on a humbling and terrifying relevance all at once. Would it still happen today? Would God let that happen to me? Am I guaranteed a glorious and victorious full circle?

The mature Christian will tout his or her faith that God is good, etc. I was pretty sure I believed all these things. And I still do. I guess. At least on paper. But I may be freaking out a little bit in real life.

Maturity-shmurity. I know nothing.

Tolga and I were talking about the apartment we are selling the other day. We need many things to fall in place - the list is overwhelming. I seem less and less capable of making decisions because of the stress, but when I was looking over the paperwork again tonight, I realized I have more options then I realized. Or maybe I don't. I just know I've been swinging away, desperately in many directions - not really sure even what I'm swinging at or for, just trying to not let things happen but rather make things happen. But, it's exhausting. It's exhausting when you keep applying for jobs, keep trying to resolve money issues, keep trying with little seeming result. We felt so disheartened the other day when it seemed the Coop would block our sale - it felt as if we couldn't ever let our guard down, even for a second, for its a ongoing war here.

I always get that image of Lord of the Rings, when the band went out as a last stand for Mankind, a few against tens of thousands - fearfully outnumbered and their hope resting on two halflings to surmount equally difficult odds. The courage of the moment and humbling beauty of their salvation always brings tears to my eyes.

I wonder if I could ever do the same.

I will write

I will write.

I will not go longer without writing.

See . . . I'm writing.

I taught all day kindergarten today. All day kindergarten is just wrong. These kids were tough, and held up throughout the day pretty well, but parents don't even have the option of a half-day here. I said,

"When did this happen?"

"Three years ago."

"Oh."

And then all the subs (because there were a lot of subs that day) started talking about where they sub and how often. I'm a bit on the extreme end. I'm registered in four districts to be sure I have a sub job every day, and I'm looking for a third job. I called the Human Resources of St. John's hospital to further pester them as to how I could bypass the impersonal web and get myself an interview. I was told to keep applying on the web.

That's what we're doing.

***

Last winter, my dad, husband, and I were all playing a game of Monopoly. I was losing, going in debt, mortgaging properties. I began whining about losing and becoming irrational because the game was too close to real life. And then, suddenly, the game changed - I don't remember what happened, but somehow I made all the money back and nearly bankrupted the others. Even in the game I couldn't stifle a very satisfied smile.

The game keeps coming to mind because even while I was playing the game I was seeing myself in the bigger picture of things. How emotional I was in my reaction to the game - with its ups and downs I was not a steady character. It seems I wouldn't be a good banker because my responses were to the immediate, I could see it, and I couldn't stop myself.

I started thinking about real life, and how much I was whining and complaining about EVERYTHING. And how, in a very short time many things could change, for the better or the worse. In some ways, I'm always expecting things to change for the better (thus my continual bitter disappointment when it doesn't). If things did change, would I grateful or find something else to complain about? Would I be happy with a satisfied grin? Is money really the only issue here? Is the feeling of "losing" the issue?

When I come back to the basic question of what do I really want . . . I'm just not that sure.

So . . . I will write.

Fifteen

What was I doing at fifteen?

Let's see, I was in ninth grade and thought I was on the verge of conquering the world. We were still living out in the country. At school, I was playing three sports, a couple of instruments, doing well in school, working different jobs, and I was pretty sure things would keep coming to me pretty easily.

But things didn't come easily, maybe things never came easy and I was fooling myself. I wonder why we don't teach kids how life is hard. How to be grateful for the things we have and to look at it all as good fortune. I always found the story of Job pretty unbelievable, how he could gain everything, lose everything, and then gain it all again - how the loss and gain could ever be called just, but now maybe I am beginning to see glimpses of how maybe the losses and gains are irrelevant (but I'm not sure I'm ready to grasp how these losses and gains are irrelevant).

In the last fifteen plus years I've lived in Kansas, Jersey, and New York. I've traveled many countries, I've earned a couple of degrees, I learned some new skills, I bought a place, I was married. All great events that undoubtedly had their own struggles that I'm somewhat unwilling to go into. I was thinking of this today because at the school I taught, a fifteen year old had been shot and killed this weekend. He was at a friend's house, the kids were playing with guns, the gun got loaded at some point and one boy picked up the gun, aimed it at the back of his friend's head, and shot and killed his friend. The boy may be tried as an adult, the friends may have consequences as well. I could easily play the scene out in my mind - the kids' carelessness and disconnect from danger or consequences. I know I've done plenty of things out of my own ignorance or sense of invincibility, and I'm sure most can think of times we were spared the consequence of our mistakes.

But not these boys.

So what's going on here?

In my new trial habit of three things:

I never heard back from Saint Paul schools but I assume I wasn't hired, and I can hardly fathom any longer why that is . . . I wish I knew . . . sort of . . . I am not terribly disappointed that I didn't get the job, but it sure messes with the psyche - like, what's wrong with me? Maybe I'm not a good teacher . . .

On another note, maybe I could make a career out of Target. I was recognized as a fast friendly team member this month. I'm not sure what that means, or how important it was . . . but it felt good to be acknowledged amidst all of these things.

We had Thanksgiving part II here the other night. We cooked a whole other Turkey for the sole purpose of having something to go with Mom's delicious homemade cranberry sauce, which is more like a jelly. Aaron and Asher were over as well. Asher had been sick, but was pretty excited to be there. We put a plate of food in front of him to eat. He looked at his food. Played around some. Looked at his food some more. Complained a little about the food. Wanted to be fed. Aaron finally gave him a big mouthful. Asher chewed a little bit then froze, frowning some and looking a bit worried. He clutched his stomach and threw up. Aaron patted him on the back, and Asher threw up on Aaron. I had absently taken another bite, then realized what I was doing and no longer wanted to chew myself. Tolga took Asher to the bathroom, and as soon as Asher was gone, Aaron started gagging. I probably would have been okay, but when Aaron started gagging, I started gagging and choking because I still had food in my mouth.

Thanksgiving part three.