Random Blessings

In terms of the housework around here, nothing has changed since last night.  The state of affairs at the Jedi Manor are so reminiscent of college, we’re wearing our collegiate sweatshirts, and I keep expecting Hubs to pop his head around a door and shout, “Hey!  Are final exams THIS WEEK?!”

(Hubs and I had two entirely different approaches to studying for finals.  I liked to prepare weeks ahead of time.  I liked to sit on a sofa tucked in between some stacks in the library in College Town.  I read and reread my notes.  I made up quizzes for myself, and silently cheered when I got the answers right.  I studied all the bold print words in the textbooks, and read and reread the chapters.  I went to study groups with other focused kids from my classes.  Hubs, on the other hand, liked to review for finals while he was brushing his teeth that very morning.  With a toothbrush in one hand, he’d use his free hand to look at the chapter titles of his textbook.  And then he’d write the quadratic equation on the palm of his hand with a Sharpie marker and call it good.)

But really?

I just have a couple of things for y’all tonight.

1.  I haven’t been exactly quiet about my affair with the pretzel M&Ms.  I know with some certainty that they’ll be served in the buffet lines in Heaven.  Jesus will have gigantic bowls of them at Sunday Potlucks, and He’ll say, “Take as many as you like; the bowl never empties, and nothing has calories in it up here.”  In Heaven, my potluck plate will be heaped with the pretzel M&Ms.  And a chunk of cheesecake.  And a thick Jimmy John’s sandwich.  Because did you hear that part about NO CALORIES?!

No matter.

Last Friday afternoon, when I collected our mail, there was an envelope addressed to me in unfamiliar handwriting, and all I could think was, “Wow!  REAL mail!”  Real mail, as opposed to all the applications for low-interest credit cards and full-color advertisements letting me know that cat litter is currently on sale at Walgreens.  The envelope with REAL HANDWRITING on it was very thin.

I ripped it open, because I am NEVER glamorous about opening envelopes, which drives my dad completely bonkers.  He is convinced that Earth continues to spin because there are still people in this world who will neatly slit an envelope open with a pocketknife.  My motto has always been, “If the envelope isn’t shredded when you manage to get inside of it, you did something wrong.”

I cannot even begin to explain my utter surprise when I found myself standing in my kitchen, holding a demolished envelope and A LONE COUPON FOR REAL AMERICAN DOLLARS OFF OF ANY SIZED BAG OF PRETZEL M&Ms!  I glanced back at the envelope and realized that there wasn’t a single name or return address.  There was no note inside.  Just an envelope with my name on it, which had gone through the United States Postal Service, all so that I could save some big money on my next purchase.

You can bet your favorite pair of sneakers that I’ll be making a NEXT PURCHASE with that coupon, too.  That little piece of mail on Friday was like a genuine hunk of manna falling straight down from the heavens.

(Only this manna WILL have calories involved.)

(Which means Gloria will have to get even MORE involved.)

Hubs told me, “You know who clips and saves every coupon in existence, don’t you?  You know who we had to buy a Sunday newspaper for while we were in Major Thriving Metropolis earlier this month, so she could have all the coupons in it, don’t you?  I’m sure it was Amy who sent the coupon to you.”

Only, people… It wasn’t.  It’s not Amy’s handwriting on the envelope.  Not at all.  Not even close.  And Amy just hands me coupons with a giant, squeeze-style hug involved; she doesn’t MAIL coupons to me.  No.  It wasn’t Amy who sent me the manna.

I don’t even have a close clue as to WHO mailed it to me, because my CSI: Small Town skills are horrid.  I didn’t think to dust for prints on the envelope or send it to the crime lab to see where the paper was manufactured.  But what I can do is simply say THANK YOU.  That little random act of kindness totally made my day!

And also?

You do know that if it was YOU who mailed it, you’re technically listed as AN ENABLER now, don’t you?

2.  This seemed to be the week of blessings, because yesterday a group of us girls was squished in around a Starbucks table moaning over the fact that we all have to come up with Halloween costumes for small children, and then blam!  We have to start Christmas shopping right after that!  And then I was pushing wreaths on everyone, because the boy is selling them for a fundraiser for his school, and I laughed out loud when Becki proclaimed that she wanted to order the evergreen garland to go around her front door, and then she STINKING PULLED UP HER FRONT DOOR MEASUREMENTS, which were stored in a file on her phone.  Becki’s organization makes me happy, and I plum adore that girl.  (I seriously doubt that Becki waited until teeth-brushing-time the morning of a big exam to start studying.)  And then… There was a MAJOR MANNA BLESSING.  My sister pulled a little jewelry bag out of her purse, and then she made the announcement at the table, “I’m sorry, but I don’t have a little bag for all y’all.  This is just a Sister Thing.”  And she handed me that little bag and I NEARLY DRIBBLED IN MY DRAWERS, because sweet mercy!  Right there in the tiny bag was the jazziest, snazziest, rhinestone-embellished watch any of y’all ever DID see!  And then Sister grinned and said, “Just because.”

Have I ever told you how much I love that girl?

The watch is gray rubber, which sounds weird when I type the words, but which is hip and trendy and sassy and VERY WOW!  And then there are rhinestones all around the face of it, which blink in the sunlight and cast all kinds of sparkly spells everywhere.

And today, while I had it on in my PE classes, one of my four-year-old pre-kindergarten girls saw it and shouted, “OH!  I just LOVE your watch!  Look how it sparkles!  Are you a princess with it?”

And THAT comment made me happy, because it’s jolly well about time that someone recognized my true identity.

I told her, “Yes.  Yes, I really AM a princess!”

And then, because boys know exactly how to totally ruin almost any golden moment, a four-year-old boy looked at me and said, “You don’t have a crown.”

He’s flunking PE at the tender age of four, and I will make the comment on his report card that sometimes princesses try to blend in with commoners so that we’re not constantly harassed for autographs, thank you very much.

It’s why we study in the library!  Because we know no one else will be there eight weeks before final exams start, so we can have some peace and quiet.

Happy Wednesday night, y’all.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *