Divine Imperfections

What Are You Watching For?

My recent shoe salvation got me thinking about what else might be in my possession in need of a little TLC.

So I was delighted when a rare organizing session of my poorly neglected jewelry selection unearthed lots of forgotten treasures in need of a little care.

 

One piece in particular caught my attention. It was the Winnie the Pooh watch I wore through my teen years.

I wore it so much the band had to be replaced several times. 

I must have stopped wearing the watch just about the time I last replaced the band though (either in a failed attempt to seem cooler, or because I had a snazzy Pink flip Motorola as a time piece). Because when I found it the thing looked good as new.


Since I’m no longer keeping up any pretenses of coolness I was excited to get it a new battery and start rocking that sentimental accessory again.

So Mikael and I paid a visit to a local jewelry repair and watch shop.

 

Pooh in tow (yes, I said “Pooh in tow"), we spoke with the man behind the counter.

He couldn’t have been cuter, (I love mustached old men) and offered to fix my watch right away. Only when he put the new battery in nothing happened.

The adorable little bees that are supposed to flit about as the seconds tick did no flitting.

“Pooh’s no good,” he said.

 

Mikael later confessed that the man’s statement made him want to giggle, something I found incredibly endearing.

But I was really sad at the time, like, on the verge of tears sad.

And it’s not like that watch is the only remaining artifact from my oddly nerdy adolescent. (Hardly.)

It’s not like it’s the only gift my parents ever gave me, or that I wore it for luck during all my UIL competitions or something. (Also not true.)

 

It’s just something that once meant a lot to me, that I let sit around in a drawer for years, and when I did finally get around to fixing it, it was literally too late.

And I hate that feeling.

I hate knowing an opportunity has passed.

I hate knowing a door has closed for good, if it was a good door that is.

 

The shoes I saved (with a great deal of help from a washing machine) were a tangible reminder for me about the power of redemption.

They showed me that I shouldn’t give up on something just because it seems like a lost cause. And it was a very good lesson.

 

But what that poor Pooh watch taught me is that the time for restoration is limited.

Time itself is fleeting, fast.

So if something matters to us...

We should act, now.

We should set to work, instead of putting it off.

We should begin quickly, instead of assuming there will always be more time. ‘

 

Cause there won’t always be more. Sometimes the bees stop flitting.

 

I hesitated to share the story of the broken Pooh watch, because I know it’s very silly.

It was a very trivial thing to be sad about, in the tangible sense.

 

But my Eyeore-like walk around the mall that day really got me thinking… about time, and about restoration, and about how those two go hand in hand.

 

I first wore that watch when I was in my teens, just a kid really. I had my whole life ahead of me, and I acted like it, as so many teens do.

I spent half of high school being reckless and stupid, and the other half waiting around for life to happen to me.

I kept thinking if I just got a boyfriend then I’d be happy. If I just got my license… If I could just hurry up and graduate…

I kept waiting for these milestones as signals to dig in and really start my life.

But instead I just kept passing them by.

I just kept waiting.

 

Well I’m 28 now. And I know that’s not 98, but time flies by much quicker than it did back then.

At 18 I couldn’t imagine pushing 30. I couldn’t even imagine making it past 21.

Now I feel like 40 will be here tomorrow! (And 70 will be right behind that.)

 

Time goes so fast. Sooo fast. Yet I forget that, on a daily basis.

I still sit around waiting for life to happen, like I’m 17 with all the time in the world.

 

But I’m not. And I don’t want to be either. I don’t want to go back, or fast forward.

I just want to use this time I’m given, instead of trying (in vain) to save it…

I want to stop waiting, and start living, as if time were precious, priceless, because really, it is.

 

And don’t worry.

This isn’t some morbid diatribe against youth, or a rebel YOLO cry.

This is my aging eyes opening, and my priorities changing...

This is my lesson from the Pooh watch.

 

I’ve spent so much of my life waiting…

For things to get easier.

For my fears to subside.

For directions to be clearer…

 

That I haven’t done nearly as much living as I’d like.

And I desperately want to change that, while I still have the time.

I want to stop waiting for the right time, and just start.

 

It’s time to start!

Rx: For Serious Problems

I just realized these little "perscriptions" are like giant - Mike Nye endorsed - fortune cookies.

Without the cookie. (Or the endorsement check from Mr. Nye.)

 

So basically, these are the worst things ever.

 

Except that, sometimes I need reminders more than sugar. Sometimes.

So I guess I'll stick with them, and hope you can be patient with me.

 

I've started and drafted a million posts, trying to deal with the pesky emotions that go along with a move. And change. And chaos. And coffee-drinking binges.

I want to be brave and "publish" them at some point. I want to commiserate with those of you who are going through the same things. And glean wisdom from those who are already on the other side of them.

 

But for now, this is all I got.

It's not much, but it's enough I hope.

 

And, it reminds me of something that soothes me even more than these little self-medications.

 

Rx: For the Times You Find Yourself in a Sticky Mess

With big changes comes a lot of stress.

And with a lot of stress comes the very end of my patience.

 

Soooo... I've been thinking about this a LOT as of late. The concept of grace.

Especially when people call with really dumb questions, that take an hour just for them to spit out.

 

(Whoever said "there are no dumb questions" never had to tell a father that the date for him to drop his kid off at ONLINE college is never. Ever. With a straight face.)

I want so badly to give in to the part of me that would very much like to be rude. And merciless. In moments like that.

I want to respond sarcastically, with superiority... But then I think back to when I asked a waiter how large the 14" pizza was. And I'm reminded of my need to eat humble pie. (I'll take humble pizza pie if you're giving me the option.)

 

It's really easy to look on other people's stupidity and think that we're much better off. In fact, I did this while driving through Sonic just today.

There is a bold, red stop sign near the drive-thru WARNING customers that the numbers of the combos have changed. (My husband's voice played like a cassette tape in my mind as I drove past. "What a bunch of stupid idiots," he'd say.)

You don't purchase a sign until you've had complaints, you see. So that means, somewhere along the way, a poor carhop, on wobbly roller skates, had to deal with this...

"This isn't the number two I ordered." (hehe, number two)

 

Are we that lazy? And stupid, that we don't use pictures to order anymore? We rely solely on the numbers, preferably ones with very few syllables, since they're easier to say?

 

I felt completely self-righteous driving off with exactly what I had ordered (without the reliance on numbers, no less). That is, until I hit a corner a little too sharply, while looking down at my phone I might add.

It was then that not one but TWO of my drinks flew from the cup holders onto the floor.

They sounded like an ocean wave crashing onto my Jeep Cherokee at that moment. A flood of sticky Coca Cola products and that signature Sonic ice, instantly melding into my already disastrous floorboard.

Do I have the worst luck with drive-thrus? Or am I just really slow to learn?

 

I suspect it's the latter.

 

I think moments like the Coke Crisis remind me what I'm reluctant to hear over the buzz of the phone ringing for the 900th time at work... that dads with dumb questions aren't the only ones who need grace.

 

We all need grace. All the time.

But we especially need grace in those really tough moments.

The moments we're tempted to cry over spilt Coke. Or tempted to mock someone else for sending an email about applying to online "collage."

The times when we feel the worst - or want to be the rudest - are when we need grace the most.

 

And we don't just need a drop of grace. We don't just need a little spill - the kind that makes it look like you peed your pants.

We need a WAVE of grace to rush over us like those Cokes spewing onto my car.

We need grace that totally wrecks us. Changes us. Destroys who we once were.

 

Thankfully, when it comes to my car, the Jeep has not seen better days since about 1990, so I wasn't too worried about clean up.

Yes, my car will smell like vanilla Coke, and yes the passenger side will be sticky.

But I can think of much more pressing things than worrying about that.

In fact, until I can securely shut the driver's side door AND replace the lug nut (that my husband seems to think is important) I probably won't be bothering with little things like vacuuming the floor.

 

Until I do, though, the goop can serve as a tangible reminder that I need Grace.

I need to be so filled up with it, and so overwhelmed by it, that it sticks to everything I say and do.

That way, when I'm tempted to say "stu..." I can stop myself and Breathe Grace instead.

 

 Yes; breathe grace. Breathe GRACE...

Rx: For the Pesky Fears

This is the song that played as I walked down the aisle to my groom.

I listened to it A LOT in college, especially on all those lonely nights I spent wondering if anyone would ever come along that made the waiting seem worthwhile.

 

It also inspired this year's birthday present, which has found a prominent place on my desk. It serves as a much needed reminder...

"In your darkest hour, I'll love you still. I have and I always will."

 

I need those kinds of reminders, from time to time (often).

It's good stuff that helps keep me from worrying my petty little head off.

Here's to LOVE big enough to drive out fear!

Rx: For the Monday Blues

Today I desperately want to talk about my birthday weekend, and how blessed I am to know such incredible people (and bakers!).

I also want to share the dozens (hundreds!) of pictures I took over the weekend, of everything from margarita cupcakes to MORTS (Mom shorts, in case you were wondering).

I want to talk about dreams. And change. And how on earth I went to bed 19 and woke up 28?!

And I want to talk about marriage four months in. (Happy day-late anniversary Babe!)

 

I want to ask if anyone knows why I get the circus theme song stuck in my head while I'm at work.

I want to ask for prayers and support as Mikael and I prepare for some pretty big life changes.

But, alas, I have LOTS to do before I can truly sit down and blog all that out.

 

So, instead of spending my WHOLE lunch break typing frantically and racking my brain for the right words, how 'bout I just leave you with some advice I doodled a while back... (I've got a date with a chicken wrap I'm already late for.)

It's not an advertisement for Northern&Nye (a local print firm) by the way. They just happen to give out really great sketch pads. My favorite is one that happens to look a lot like a perscription pad.

 

Sometimes while I'm on the phone, or waiting for something to print, I find myself writing "perscriptions" of sorts for myself. Stuff I need to be reminded of. Stuff I'm mulling over.

Here's my "Rx" for today:Yea; I stole it from one of my favorite Disney movies. But so what?

Good advice sometimes comes from strange places. Right?!

 

*And on that note, what's your favorite advice from a favorite film, friend, or an unlikely source?