It's in the little things.
The moments of laughter at the ridiculousness of it all.
The little neuroses and the teasing about each other's little neuroses.
Freezer cake and a Grey's Anatomy marathon after a really bad day.
Apparently Santa doesn't wear clothing in the off-season. He doesn't sleep in a bed either.
Road trips, and stopping to buy special chocolate milk for a wedding toast.
"squeeky" cheese curds.
Sweet chili chicken, skinny fries, diva salads, and club-med sandwiches at Joey's.
Hanging out for an hour or two before she works a night shift.
Prayers together in a dark car.
Dinner once a week or so, and the occasional girly movie.
Stories about the slightly insane old people on the unit she works on. (I'll never forget the one where she was chased by an old man with a cane, who didn't speak a word of English, and who had previously barricaded the door to his room... or the one about the woman who wandered off so often that they pinned a note to the back of her hospital gown that read "if found, return to unit so and so"... or the one about mashing the sedatives into the filling of the patient's sandwich to get her to sleep...)
Shopping together. Not many can survive a shopping trip with her. She hates shopping, but seems to do it on a regular basis.
Packing for a road trip in a laundry basket, and packing to move houses (again) in exactly the same fashion.
Driving across the city on a whim to hit a particular store or restaurant.
Laughing in the greeting card aisle while on a quest to find the "perfect" sentiments for the people we love.
Teasing and laughing while shopping for lingerie showers for friends.
The everyday stuff of life.
The stuff that isn't intense. Not talking about the dreams or all the harder things, unless I really need to.
I hadn't realized how much sanity those little things brought to my life.
She's on the other side of the globe, working in a tiny hospital, trying to learn an impossibly difficult language, desperately missing the guy she'll marry next summer when she returns from Asia.
I miss her tonight. And I miss all the fun and sanity she brings to my life.
Praying for her, for the things she's asked, and for Jesus to meet with her in the midst of the things she's doing, and the things she's struggling with.
She's on my heart tonight, this best friend of mine. And I miss her.
Tuesday, October 07, 2008
Not the American Dream
I'm reading a book entitled "Between the Dreaming and the Coming True" by a man named Robert Benson. I highly recommend it. He speaks of God as the great Dreamer, and life as the space lived between the initial dreaming, and the full realization of that dream.
In it, in a chapter on work and vocation and cathedral building, he wrote the following, which caught me this morning as I settled in at a desk for another day at a job I don't hate, but certainly don't love.
It may well be that the business of America is business, but the business of the Dreamer has always been and always will be something else altogether. And the business of selling our lives by the hour, doing work that we do not want to do or being people that we do not want to be - in the name of piling up treasures that have more to do with what we want or think we ought to have than with what we need, treasures that have more to do with what shines rather than what sustains - is hardly what the Dreamer envisioned. (pg. 91)
In it, in a chapter on work and vocation and cathedral building, he wrote the following, which caught me this morning as I settled in at a desk for another day at a job I don't hate, but certainly don't love.
It may well be that the business of America is business, but the business of the Dreamer has always been and always will be something else altogether. And the business of selling our lives by the hour, doing work that we do not want to do or being people that we do not want to be - in the name of piling up treasures that have more to do with what we want or think we ought to have than with what we need, treasures that have more to do with what shines rather than what sustains - is hardly what the Dreamer envisioned. (pg. 91)
Tired
The dreams were thick, and disturbing again last night.
The self-conversation as I drove to work this morning, still distracted by the night of dreams went something like, "Snap out of it Lisa, and pay attention to where you're going." At one point I realized that I had absolutely no idea where I was, on a route that I travel twice a day, five days a week. I found myself frantically looking for signs, wondering if I'd actually managed to be so out of it that I'd driven past my exit. (I hadn't.)
Two days of work left for me this week.
I'm not going to think about the headache that's back for the forth day running.
Or about how badly I would rather be getting some sleep than sitting at my desk.
It's all in the doing of the thing. And right now, there's too much to do to be at home. There are deadlines coming, and I'm grateful for the little bit of time off I managed to secure to attend this next wedding.
Two days left.
The self-conversation as I drove to work this morning, still distracted by the night of dreams went something like, "Snap out of it Lisa, and pay attention to where you're going." At one point I realized that I had absolutely no idea where I was, on a route that I travel twice a day, five days a week. I found myself frantically looking for signs, wondering if I'd actually managed to be so out of it that I'd driven past my exit. (I hadn't.)
Two days of work left for me this week.
I'm not going to think about the headache that's back for the forth day running.
Or about how badly I would rather be getting some sleep than sitting at my desk.
It's all in the doing of the thing. And right now, there's too much to do to be at home. There are deadlines coming, and I'm grateful for the little bit of time off I managed to secure to attend this next wedding.
Two days left.
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