Sunday Night

Something weird is happening to me.

I sat down to pay my bills this afternoon and accomplished the task without any creeping feelings of despair, hopelessness, or feeling forgotten.

We did not come into money; no wealthy Aunt we were unaware we had passed away in the night leaving an ungainly inheritance in our names absolving us of financial worries.  I’ve just been actively praying that it is rooted in my heart the One to whom all the money in all the universe belongs, including mine.  HE HAS ME COVERED.  I believed it today.  It may have been the first time the knowledge in my head aligned with my heart on the matter.  After a steady stream of 15 years filled with financial anxiety, this is more than a step.  It’s a breaking down, and a breaking through.

I have begun to read differently; particularly the Bible.  I am literary, and verbal.  Duh.  The dialogue is the meat.  The good stuff.  I will skip pages of setting descriptions to get to what the people are saying about the matter.  But lately, to my horror, I have been sincerely uninterested in what people have to SAY and rather, am gravitating toward who people ARE.  I am re-reading the Sermon on the Mount and all that leads up to it and instead of scanning for red letters I find myself getting lost in the non-details, as it were.  “As Jesus was walking beside the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers….” (Matt. 4:18)  Jesus was walking.  Walking by the water.  He didn’t have to walk down by the water.  Did being by the water give him peace? Did he seek it out? Go out of his way to walk on the edge of it, the surging life of it all. Is that why he uses the phrase, “living water”?  Did he ever swim in it? Is that why? It was so hot during the day and Galilee’s terrain incredibly rocky, did he need to feel the nearness of the relief it provided?

He walked.

I can’t get past these two words.  Two words I have blown by for the last 16 years of being a believer.

Something weird is happening to me.

If those examples aren’t proof enough, I almost adopted a dog this weekend.  I know.  those who know me are gasping for breath.  I love all animals- as long as they stay far away from my house.  I don’t ever want the hassle of dog breath, dog poop, dog drool, dog hair, and the list goes on.  I am not a dog lover.  I don’t even have empathy for the lost or discarded ones.  I know, you hate me now.  I’m just telling the truth.

And then this stupid little graying scottish terrier takes a liking to my kid during an adoption day and all bets are off.  He’s old. decrepit even.  He has ear infections from being out on the street.  They’re guessing he has arthritis because he can’t walk for too long.  He has a chunk missing out of his ear and a sad, pathetic little expression as the volunteer explained to my child that he probably won’t walk over and say hello to her as she wanted.  He’s friendly, but doesn’t approach people.  Until he walked over to my daughter and laid down at her feet and she said, “Oh Mama, look.  He needs me.”


He looks like Don Notts with fur.  He needs a walking stick and a sweater.  He’ll probably need dialysis in a year and I’ll end up shelling out more cash for this geriatric animal than I do for El’s education.

His name is Harold for crying out loud.

I took home the application and watched the volunteer fight back emotion as she handed me the paperwork.  We thought no one would ever love him, she said.

Damn these people are good.

So that’s my life right now, on this Sunday night.  Paying bills and not crying about the ones that I can’t pay, reading words like Jesus walked and crying about that for reasons I have yet to have a rational answer to while filling out an application for a dog that is OLDER THAN SIN.

I told you something weird was happening to me.


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