Distractions

Image by ilamag from Pixabay 

My husband and I’ve been watching The Chosen (at my husband’s request, which is a miracle of its own). In this last segment, the Pharisees are ramping up their hatred for Jesus, concentrating only on the letter of the law and ignoring the miracles. Both my husband and I wonder how these intelligent men could be so blind.

I woke up at 2 am this morning with this question still rolling around in my mind. After tossing and turning for a half hour, I conceded I wasn’t going back to sleep and crawled out of bed. As I sat sipping a glass of water, I realized my own blindness. I’ve been so caught up in the details of this new diet and the impact it has on my life, I had a hard time concentrating on my devotions and Scripture readings, along with other things.  

Jesus said the cares of this world would snatch away our faith if we weren’t careful. It is so easy to get caught up in the here and now, the problems, concerns, and tasks. After all the miracles I’ve witnessed, how could I lose my spiritual sight? And here I was questioning others, blinded by details.

Feeling the need for spiritual nourishment, I picked up a new devotion, Refresh Your Prayers. The reference to Psalm 139: 7-10 caught my attention. The movie segment we watched that night also quoted these verses.

“Whither shall I go from thy spirit? Or whither shall I flee from thy face? If I ascend into heaven, thou art there: if I descend into hell, thou art present. If I take my wings early in the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea: Even there also shall thy hand lead me: and thy right hand shall hold me.”

“If I take wings early in the morning.” I guess 2 am qualifies.

Thank you, Lord, for loving me enough to reach for me in the depths of the night, for drawing my attention back to you and away from so many details, as important as they are. I need balance between the earthly and the spiritual. If anything, I need to lean farther into the latter. A 2 am wake up is a good place to start. It’s quiet. No distractions. It’s only you and me. Amen.

Karma

Photo by Anastase Maragos on Unsplash

When I was younger, I loved rearranging things, furniture, kitchenware, wall hangings and the list went on. I now realize it was my way of coping with stress from my abusive first marriage. My second husband and our three kids, having no clue as to the reason behind my compulsiveness, complained, often and loud. They tired of the treasure hunt to find the silverware, the plates, pots and pans, and glassware. One night was the final straw for my sweet husband.

Insomnia plagued me for years for the same reason as my compulsive rearranging. During a particularly bad night, I snuck out of bed and rearranged the living room and family room, hoping the mental and physical exercise would tire me enough to sleep. About halfway through, I collapsed, too tired to clean up my mess. I left plants out in the middle of the room and furniture at odd angles.

Early the next morning, this exclamation from my husband levitated me from the bed. “We’ve been robbed! Wait, the TV is still here. And the stereo. Who’d steal the plants?”

By the time I sauntered into the living room, he’d figured it out. He glared at me. “You will never again rearrange furniture in the middle of the night. Understand?”

I nodded. “I promise.”

I kept that promise, but I got into trouble one other time. Home alone, I gave into another compulsion to rearrange. Believing I was being smart, I tagged all the wires on the entertainment system so I could move it and reattach everything. However, the TV was one of the large and heavy early models. I managed to roll it about halfway across the room before it tipped. I watched in horror as it landed with a loud crash and all my little tabs floated in the air like confetti. The TV survived the rough landing, but after my husband spent two hours trying to figure out how to reconnect everything his tech savvy nephew had set up, He forbid me from moving furniture, ever.

Jump thirty years into the future. The Queen of Rearranging has met her match. My current husband (I've remarried after being widowed twice) wants to move furniture every few months. That’s more than even I can stand.

However, he bribed me with a designated hobby room if I'd help move those large bookcases and his horridly heavy desk. (It’s so big and heavy, the top comes off to make it easier to move.)  It turned into a chain reaction. We ended up moving furniture in every room.  The only thing we didn’t move was the 80-inch TV. (There's some Karma in that!)

I’m tired and bruised. Add to my tale of woe, when I carried in one of the decoration boxes in from the garage, a fire ant stung my arm. The same arm the yellow jacket stung me this last summer. We don’t have a fire ant nest in the garage. I checked. In fact, there isn’t a single red ant in there, except the one on that box. I swear if there is a biting-stinging bug within fifty miles, it will find me. It’s been three days, and it still hurts. (Insert proper whine.)

Still, the new arrangements solved several issues we’ve had with the house. I shared the guest room with my art. When I wanted to sew, I had to use the dining table. We used the family room only when we had company, which is rare since our family lives in another state. We had only two chairs in the living room, now we have more. The former family room is now a more useable den. And I have a designated hobby room! First time in my life I don’t have to put everything away the moment I’m done painting or sewing.

I haven’t told all the family or friends about this last rearranging adventure, but I can already hear them laughing, pointing fingers and saying, “Haha! Karma strikes again!”

Here are some before and after photos. I am happy with the results, Karma or not. 

What about you? Do like to rearrange or are you happy with things the way they are? 

Mind Chatter

Dr. Emmett Miller coined the phrase to describe the constant twittering that often plagues us in the night. That endless chatter dredging up things from the distant past or reciting a litany of things we need to accomplish the next day.

Some say it is a sign of creativity or intelligence. A sweet thought, but guilt and regret seem to play a big role, at least for me.

Is the self-incrimination a means to keep me humble and not puffed up? It works, but is it healthy? According to Dr. Emmett Miller, M.D. there should be a balance between admitting mistakes and misjudgments, asking for forgiveness, and feeling good about right choices and accomplishments.

There are many ways of finding that balance: prayer, meditation, spiritual retreats, and guided imagery to mention a few. I’ve used them all at one time or another. They are effective if used regularly, something I am not good about doing when I’m busy. 

I have been good about my prayers and devotions in the mornings since discovering how effective they are to setting a peaceful tone to my day and keeping my blood pressure down, but after I go to bed I have more difficulty. Time to dig out Dr. Miller’s recording, Easing into Sleep, and find the off button to all that late night chatter. 

How about you? Does your mind whirl from ancient memories to your to-do-list? What methods have you used to turn those thoughts off?

My Nocturnal Life

Insomnia. We all suffer with it at one time, or another. I have rearranged furniture, cleaned the pantry, and as of last night, worked on landscaping projects. I have tried reading or playing Solitaire, but it seems physical activity gets me back to sleep faster, although not without some repercussions.

The night I rearranged furniture, I gave up half way through and went to bed. My husband thought we’d been robbed. Last night, my husband, and Cooper, thought we had a burglar stealing our landscaping brick. 

I know. Three o’clock in the morning is an odd time to be rearranging the flower garden. However, there was a good reason. Well, for redoing the garden, maybe not for doing it the dark.

  

Six-month-old Cooper is still in the let’s-eat-the-whole-world mode. Our raised flowerbed is filled with decorative rock, sticks, pine cones, and poisonous plants. This cornucopia of indigestible snacks sings a siren song to him. We tried lining the decorative fence with chicken wire. It worked, for a while, until our extraordinarily smart pup realized he could push out sections of the wire and feast. 

Le sigh.

Last night, around three a.m., the perfect solution hit me like a taser. I tried rolling over and snuggling back in for some additional sleep, but no luck. I envisioned the step-by-step procedure until I finally gave up. 

I slipped on sweats, grabbed a coat and a flashlight, and went outside. After several minutes of experimentation, I figured out the details. My plan was brilliant. Why hadn’t we thought of it before? By removing the top layer of decorative brick (all one-hundred-and-twenty of them), and tucking a portion of the chicken wire under them, we would have a stabilized retaining wall. Cooper couldn’t push the wire aside and nothing could slip through. 

I managed to do about ten feet of wall before I heard noises behind me.

  

My husband, obviously hastily dressed, and Cooper stood beside the back door peering in my direction. Not being the bravest member of the investigation team, Cooper barked and ran for the door. My husband held a defensive stance.

I finally found my voice. “Hey, it’s me!”

Cooper turned around, stretched in my direction to get a better scent, and then hit me like the ton of bricks I had just moved.

My husband didn’t move, and although it was dark, I could read his thoughts. Seconds later, he clarified any misunderstanding in that regard.  

“What on earth are you doing out here in the middle of the night?”

“I figured out what to do about the flower bed.”

“Now? Can’t it wait until daylight?”

“I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d come out and try it.”

“Cooper won’t settle down.”

Which meant he woke my husband, desperate to get out of the kennel and confront the intruder in his yard. Okay, so he wanted my husband to confront the thief. 

Now that he knew I was up, he would not go back to sleep. 

Le sigh.

“Fine. Leave him out here with me. You go back to bed.”

The connoisseur of bark and rock would not cooperate with my landscaping efforts. He was determined to undermine (pun intended) all my work, and he was shivering. The grass was wet from dew, well maybe it was frost. I gave up. 

Not wanting to disturb my husband’s sleep further, I opted for a nap on the futon in my office, with Cooper. It was now five a.m., Cooper’s new time to get up since we turned the clocks back.  

However, with a little persuasion, he joined me. We also discussed eating my pillow and nesting in my blanket, but with the assistance of a collar and a short lead, I convinced him to stay put and sleep. Moments later, he stood on my stomach, faced the door, and whined. I heard it too. My husband was making coffee. 

Le sigh.