It’s been the weirdest stretch of months in my whole entire life, unless you count the year or so I spent going to the Armory with Brother Todd getting autographs of all my favorite pro wrestlers. I’m not sure if mama made him take me or if I just begged enough to appeal to his softer side. I could feel the electricity before we ever entered the building, almost like we were part of the crowd where Rocky Balboa would take on Mr. T, the aisles barely passable for all the riffraff donning their favorite wrestling t-shirts with their cut off (likely acid washed?) blue jeans.
The crowds and the sticky gym floor was no deterrent for my eye of the tiger determination at getting what I had come for and nothing warmed my 10 year old heart more than taking my red autograph book right up to the likes of Crusher Blackwell, Andre the Giant, and Ric Flair. (If you love me at ALL you will open a new browser and google the previous 3 wrestlers and pause for a moment of silence and imagine my ten year old self studying those autographs with all the passion a ten year old could muster. God Bless pro wrestling. And God Bless America.)
It’s a crying shame that by the time Hulk Hogan took on the Iron Sheik, I had moved on to bigger and better things, like watching George Strait take the Southern world by storm on CMTV. Nobody has time for wrestling when there are country music videos streaming 24/7 that must be memorized and reenacted. Using a brandy sniffer for a microphone. Because obviously.
All that to say, life is weird.
For starters, I just celebrated my 7th year of writing on the internets.
How did this happen? The internet has become a teenager while I’ve become middle aged, which makes me old enough to be its mama. Meanwhile, I have in fact become the mama of adorable 20 somethings who are doing amazing things and charming teenage girls who are about to break my heart and start high school. Why does the universe think I can handle these things without an all out break down?!?
Then there’s my own roller coaster life.
I was the poor appalachian girl who by all accounts should never have made it through high school who grew up to become a doctor who then gave up medical practice to homeschool her girls who gave up homeschooling and then somehow got a book deal and wrote a book TWICE that took her to some very hard emotional places (although the book still isn’t ready for the world), who found her passion for healing again and can’t stop thinking about (and talking about) how these little drops of love (and the business opportunity they’ve created) are totally changing everything about her life. Whew.
And did I mention that we also started renting out our little mountain cottage, which has added a whole new dimension (and workload) to my life? Did I mention the weirdness of it all?
Side note: We also rented out our actual house that we live in during the week we’ll be on vacation, which is also kinda strange and fascinating at the same time. We are considering trading it out in the future for other fun places we want to visit. Brilliant? Weird? Sign me up.
Not to even mention other things that I can’t talk about but that are keeping my heart twisted up and full. That’s another story for another year that’s needs to be covered in bathed in much prayer.
I don’t know what to say except that life is quirky but also wonderful.
It may not be Andre the Giant whose name makes my heart beat faster these days but this life keeps me in awe none the less and I still want to somehow find a way to hold all the things and people that come in and out of my days with the same child like wonder that I held that little red book with Ronnie Garvin’s signature on the front page. Coke stains and all.
We’re barely surviving some days and then some days managing to squeeze every ounce of life out of the hours, hoping that the one thing that remains the same is gratitude.
A blessed thankfulness that by God’s grace, we are here to live another day with our whole hearts and our whole attention, with hands and eyes wide open for whatever he chooses to give or take away, and with whomever’s hand He uses to bring His blessedness to us—whether it looks like a gift or not at the time and whether the gift comes as a man who stands 7 feet tall dressed in a unsightly tights or an adorable 20 something with a barrel o’monkeys mustache or even a letter from an editor that feels for all the world like it’s not a gift at all even when deep down I know it is.
I hope you’re watching for it, too—for the way He weaves a beautiful story on the weirdest days out of the strangest little bits of mismatched yarn using mostly our fears and frailty. He knows what He’s doing and He loves us so much in spite of ourselves. In spite of our sin. In spite of our grumbling. In spite of our failure to see the gifts most days. We are loved for the sake of Christ, who has given us His name and made us His own.
That may be the weirdest and most wonderful thing of all.
p.s. my newest fascination besides Instagram is Periscope. It’s a free live streaming app that seems like it’s gonna be a whole lotta fun! My handle on both is “lifeingrace”