The Post Where I Bail Out Of Writing By Directing You To Someone Else’s Writing

So we watched a lot of soccer today, which was really pretty fun except for the part where I ask you, “Did I mention that it was cold?”  Because this is Small Town, USA, and even though it was 73 degrees here one day last week, it doesn’t mean that the good Lord above won’t smack us with one of those super wet, soggy, slop-your-socks-wet-while-you-walk-through-the-grass, EXTRA COLD days once in a while, just to remind us who’s Boss.

And today was one of those gray days, which God created for bowls of chili and reading books on your sofa and laughing at some team in the NHL playoffs because of ALL THE PENALTIES that tickled Hubs’ funny bone.  Hubs loves hockey like it’s oxygen, and hockey with fights is the cream cheese frosting on his oxygen tank.  Except that analogy is actually more to my liking, because really?  OH!  I SURE DO ADORE A GOOD CREAM CHEESE FROSTING!  But Hubs?  I think he loves yellow mustard more than cream cheese icing, so let’s just say that a hockey game laced with boxing matches where the jerseys are ripped off and the referee points to the penalty box and screams, “GO THERE RIGHT THIS INSTANT!” is the FRENCH’S YELLOW MUSTARD on his oxygen tank.

I just threw up a little in my mouth.

And instead of doing those nice, warm INDOOR things, like chili and reading (Because sweet holy Moses!  Did I mention that it was COLD today?!), Hubs and I stood outside in the elements, watching soccer games, and I got one of those chills which goes all the way to the bone and cannot even be cured with a venti Starbucks chai.  (I know this for fact, because I tried it.)

The moral of this rabbit trail is simply this:  Yes, I have snapshots, but I am too cold to spend a lot of time decorating my blog with them tonight, because all I really want to do is crank the electric blanket to FIRE!  FIRE!  FIRE! and get into bed.

But I do have something for y’all this evening, even if it is rather small.

(And when I say rather small, don’t always believe me, because I can take any tiny paragraph and add four thousand words to it and make it into something enormous.  Not spectacular, mind you; just enormous.)

(I won’t do that tonight, because did I mention that I am cold?)

On Thursday, I went to Peggy’s house.  Peggy lives in the country, on a dirt road, in the sweetest, cutest little house ever.  In fact, I usually tell Peggy seventeen times whenever I am visiting her that I would love for her to pack her bags with her clothes, leave everything else behind, and move, so that I can move into HER house.  Sometimes I overstay my welcome at Peggy’s, because I just like to sit on her cozy sofa, in her cozy living room, and eat the homemade oatmeal cookies she makes.

Thursday was exactly one of those days.  Thing 2 and I drove out to Peggy’s for coffee, and I had two cups of the LEADED variety plus French Vanilla Coffee Mate, and I talked a bit more than usual, what with all the caffeine.  You see, Peggy and I are in a small group together, and when I say small group, I do mean that it tends to be on the EVER SO VERY MUCH TINY side, because it’s just Peggy and myself.  And we talk about Jesus, and we talk about our individual Bible studies, and we talk about our crazy husbands and all manner of first-world problems, like should we spend $25 on a fancy wooden shelf to hang above the toilet, and we talk about Bon Qui Qui videos on You Tube (“Welcome to King Burger, where we can do it your way, just don’t get crazy!”), which ought to be a sin, but which make us hoot until we dribble in our britches, due to all the coffee that we have consumed.  Because really?  Bon Qui Qui shouting into the microphone that she has a COMPLICATED ORDER is just plain funny.  I don’t care who you are.

(Although I’m here to tell y’all that three enormous oatmeal cookies laced with chocolate chips can actually soak up a lot of coffee and keep you in the drinking race.)

On Thursday, though, we did get into a very lively discussion about why an issue has come up in my life, even though I seem to be living right smack where God has asked me to live.  RIGHT!  SMACK!  And if I’m living right smack THERE… right smack where God put me… then why on earth would I have this to deal with?  And Peggy simply sighed and said, “I don’t know the answer, but I’m sure God has a reason.”

And then I came home, because I had already been on Peggy’s sofa for over four hours, and I had to let her have her house back to herself, because apparently this is not the week where Peggy packs her clothes and moves out, so that I can move in.

I came home, I put Thing 2 down for a nap (because it was daylight, and he adores a good sleep when the sun is shining), and I actually had all of six minutes to look online at a blog I like.  It’s called Stuff Christians Like, and if you don’t read it, you should.  The author is witty, and he makes me laugh, and on Wednesdays he posts very serious bits of writing.  And the day before Thursday, he posted a little something that pretty much answered the questions I had asked Peggy.

The answer simply is, “If you’re living where God has guided you, and you’re doing what God has asked you to do, then any problem you face becomes God’s problem.  And if it’s God’s problem, then you don’t have to worry about it.”

Can I get an AMEN here?

Check the post out and read it for yourself.  It’s a lovely bit of writing that smacked me right where I needed to be smacked, at exactly the right time.

And after I read it, I really had to go to the bathroom because I had consumed entirely too much coffee with French Vanilla Coffee Mate in it.

Happy Sunday night, everyone.

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