What does “CLEAN” mean?

I’m starting to wonder if kids ever really learn to be clean. I don’t mean “fresh out of the shower clean.” I don’t mean “scrubbed faces and clean teeth in the morning” clean. I mean clean like “germ-avoidant” clean or “rotten food in the backpack is yucky” clean. I would even go so far as to accept “neatness would be nice” clean or “wearing dirty clothes is bad” clean. You know, the kind of clean I just take for granted.

I walk through my house at night and wonder how we have arrived at this Defcon-4 level of chaos, clutter, and yuckiness. I’m thanking my lucky stars that Social Services isn’t planning an unannounced visit because I would surely be turned in, just like that crazy lady with 400 feral cats. I’m glad no one has plans to stop by any time soon because I might lose a friend or two in the deal if they saw how things ended up in my house on a daily basis. I’m amazed at how we reach this point, and it IS an every day occurrence. Just last night, when I went to bed, things looked relatively neat, relatively clean, relatively decent. The yuckiness level had been reduced to a degree that actually allowed me to sleep peacefully and, yet, here I am again tonight, wondering what happened.

I really think I need a housekeeper but since I am not independently wealthy it won’t happen any time soon. I have my own solution–the chore list. I have four young, able bodies in the house that make most of this mess, so I think they should contribute to the cleaning of the mess. We do the chore list routinely but it doesn’t seem to help nearly as much as I’d like it to. It keeps the Dirt Monster from taking the place over, but it doesn’t keep him where I’d like him, outside the door.

As I’m making my nightly rounds tonight, I stop at the table to pick up two cups half full of mystery liquid and deposit them into the sink. Note that if I don’t take this action, the cat will sneak up on the table while I sleep and topple the cups, liquid and all, creating a sticky, disgusting mess which she will then track across my carpet on her way back to the bedroom. While I’m standing at the sink rinsing down a half-eaten bowl of oatmeal that will stink by morning, I check the bottom of my sock for whatever I managed to step in while picking up the aforementioned cups at the table, even though the youngest swept the floor today, hello?

After I pass the sink, I grab two books off of the counter that need to be relocated to the girls’ room. As I pass by the entryway, I smell an odor so foul that I can barely stand it, go to investigate and find a half-eaten, very rotten, burrito in the youngest daughter’s backpack that has likely been there since before Spring Break started (count the days–8 since the last day of school), grab the whole kit and caboodle and drop it outside the front door until the smell wears off–I’m thinking that will work better than a “No Soliciting” sign any day.

I notice as I come back in the door that not a single coat has made it to the coatrack. All four of them are instead deposited on the floor directly under the coatrack. The shoe closet, with a very nice hanging shoe bag on the inside of the door that is capable of holding 20 pairs, has one lonely pair of shoes in it. The rest of the shoes are shoved willy-nilly inside the closet and the shoe mountain has grown so large now that the door cannot be closed. This gets added to the to-do list for the kids tomorrow because, if they do not sort it out before it is time to wear shoes again, there will be an argument about the reason behind someone’s shoes coming up missing. No one seems to have grasped the concept that the shoes might be in the mountain somewhere. No one seems to have grasped the concept that the shoe bag actually exists for a reason, either.

I head up the stairs and find underwear (underwear?) in the middle of the stairs. The hamper is easily accessible and directly inside the door to each bedroom, so I’m mystified. Maybe it fell out of a laundry basket hauled downstairs by one of them today. It is laundry day, after all. It’s also possible that it fell out of a pile of freshly laundered clothing on the way back up the stairs, but I don’t want to guess and I’m NOT taking a whiff to determine if it’s clean or dirty. I pick it up off of the stairs with the corner of the book in my hand because actually touching it might make me throw up a little in my mouth, and head for the bedroom to unload it in the hamper.

I stop in the bathroom to turn off the light and see that there is toothpaste from one end of the room to the other. I rinse a giant blob of it down the sink with a note to myself to purchase cheaper toothpaste next time due to the incredible amount of toothpaste wasting that happens in this house. As I’m sweeping Band-Aid wrappers off of the counter and into the trash (note that the trashcan is just down beside the counter so the sweeping effort would be extraordinarily minimal for the actual Band-Aid wearer), I notice that there is toothpaste on the base of the toilet. On the base of the toilet?!? Not even wanting to imagine how that happened, I add it to the kids’ to-do list for tomorrow. I scoop up two pairs of pants, some mismatched socks, an inside-out shirt and three towels, and deposit them by the door in one pile so that no one will fall and kill themselves in a midnight potty run (to-do list again).

I leave the bathroom and see a pair of round-ended scissors sitting on my desk that weren’t there just 2 hours ago. I see a white washrag hanging off of the corner of the fishtank that wasn’t there this morning–God only knows what it was used for today. I see a pair of dirty socks just outside the girls’ bedroom door and stare in amazement at the fact that the pair actually matches. Mentally I add that to the to-do list, as well.

This is my nightly routine. Our daily routine is to pick/clean all of these things up again. In the morning before school or whatever other events go on, we straighten up bedrooms, pick up the bathroom, clean the counter and sink, put things neatly away where they belong. All through the day I hear myself saying, “Is that where that goes?” “Did you put that away?” “Did you pick up after yourself?” “Did you rinse your dishes and put them in the dishwasher?” “As soon as we get inside, coats go where?”

We have multiple rules about putting things away before getting out something new to do, cleaning up after oneself in the bathroom (see the earlier list of clothing items found in that very room), finding the trashcan for things that actually belong in the trash (like Band-Aid wrappers, but NOT like your sister’s toothbrush, hairbrush, or favorite stuffed animal), and the like. All of the kids do chores partly because they belong to this family and they help make the mess, and partly because I would lose my mind (and my one, remaining, frayed nerve) if I had to clean all of this up myself.

I keep thinking that they will learn to take some pride in the things they do if they become responsible for keeping it clean, but it doesn’t happen. Just as soon as someone has swept the floor, the whole crew has popcorn for snack and every single one of them is perched on the chair like a monkey, legs folded up underneath them, turned sideways (implying that they are absolutely not leaning over the table or over the bowl that sits on the table), shoving great handfuls of popcorn in, dropping far more onto the floor than ever makes it into their mouths, despite the oft repeated “Lean over the table,” and “How do we sit in the chair?”. There the popcorn stays until someone is asked (told, reminded, prodded, nagged) to sweep it up. No mention of the ten minutes one of them just spent sweeping less than half an hour ago. Incredible.

I have heard horror stories of my messiness as a child, so perhaps this is just payback time. I keep hoping that one of these days soon I will be able to go to bed without making the rounds. I want to believe that someday I will be able to sleep peacefully knowing that they have all learned that germs really are disgusting, that they should put things in their places, that they should pick up after themselves. Someday I’ll be able to let go of the nightly “Tomorrow’s To-Do List”. If I’m honest with myself, I think I was about 26 before this cleanliness thing really set in. I think that means that I’m stuck with the rounds, the chore list, and the reminders until the Good Lord takes me away… or until they move out, whichever comes first. I guess I’ll replenish the Lysol supply tomorrow.

Corporate Lingo Bingo

It’s Spring Break this week and I have taken a couple of blissful days away from the hectic grind that is Corporate Life. It’s refreshing to hear “dude” and “duh” and “like” in place of all of the corporate lingo I usually hear. It’s actually been kind of fun to make up silly sentences and phrases this week, and to say them occasionally in baby talk. When I talk to my kids, I don’t have to worry about how they might interpret what I’ve said. I also don’t have to worry about whether or not my language fits the latest “direction” our family is taking. It’s English we speak in our household… just plain, old English.

Boy, have we gotten away from that in Corporate America. I like to sit in meetings and count the number of times I hear the latest buzzwords. It gets amusing after awhile, although I must admit it keeps me from intently concentrating on how I can “execute more effectively.”

Here are some of my favorites from IT land (and a few from my husband’s years in retail) followed by their plain, old English translations:

“We should utilize cross-team synergies” – We need to find another team on the globe that can take over part of our workload because we are too overworked to do it.

“We will embrace corporate direction” – If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.

“We should foster positive relationships” – We have had a lot of grouchy people here in the past, our customers think we’re evil now and we have to change that.

“We need to level set our customers” – Their expectations are outrageous and someone needs to tell them they’ve been taking hallucinogenic drugs.

“We need to think outside the box” – We have been doing it that way since this company was founded and it has never worked, so it’s time to come up with some new ideas.

“We should go for the low-hanging fruit” – Get the obvious things done now and that way we look we’re making better progress.

“Our people are cross-trained” – We have cut headcount so many times that the folks that are left have to know everything.

“We have reached critical mass” – We are about to miss a deadline, but it’s only because we are understaffed and underfinanced.

“We have some resource challenges” – We have one person left on the team (see “cross-trained” above) and he’s too busy to do it.

“We need a paradigm shift” – We need management to think differently (editorial comment: without a martini and a golf club in hand would be preferred).

“We need a better ROI” – I can’t give these numbers to management! Change them however you can so that I can justify this huge cash outlay now with a bigger return on investment later.

“Let’s take that offline” – I can’t believe you brought that up in this meeting and I will discuss that with you ONLY in the privacy of my office later.

“That person needs to be coached” – You need to discuss with that person how NOT to be an idiot in the workplace (e.g., put the fear of God into them right now) so we don’t have to go through the paperwork and headache of firing them later.

“It’s time to execute, execute, execute!” – I don’t care if you work weekends, late nights and holidays. It has to get done and you will be here doing it. I will be on holiday in the Bahamas.

“My plate is pretty full” – If you add any more tasks to my list you will cut into my Internet surfing time.

“It’s time to step up to the plate” – Get it done right now or you and I will be in the unemployment line together.

“Cleanup on aisle 6″ – I have paid my dues and have been promoted to a position that allows me access to the intercom. I’m publicly passing the responsibility for little Suzie’s “accident” in aisle 6 to the new guy.

“There’s no shame in that” – The polite way of saying you had better improve your numbers or shame will be the least of your worries.

“We had a problem with Scope Creep” – I know the project is way behind schedule, but every member of management added something “necessary” to it after the requirements phase was completed. What? No, they didn’t provide any additional budget resources.

“This is a High-Visibility Project” – All of our customers know about this and so does all of upper management, so if you screw this up your tenure at this company will be shortened considerably.

My personal favorite: “That could be a CLM (Career Limiting Move)” – That particular action could show your ineptitude (or attitude) to upper management or any customer that has upper management’s ear (see High-Visibility Project) and might earmark you for the really cruddy jobs in the future.

Corporate Lingo can be mind-numbing or hilarious, depending on your perspective. I just made my own Corporate Lingo Bingo Card and I pull it out when the lingo gets too deep. Do you have some from your “foray into gainful employment” too?

Thank You

In my former life, I was a military spouse. It was an interesting existence–sometimes fun, more often empty, lonely, disconnected… sad. It was hard to watch loved ones get deployed to God knows where and wonder every time if they would really come back. In the beginning of that life, deployment was every couple of years, with ample time at home. By the end, it was a month at home and a year away, like clockwork. If they weren’t headed off to Iraq or Kuwait, they were sent to Korea or Germany or Somalia or Haiti, and the rotation was continual. I don’t know if that had to do with the drawdown that Clinton was so fond of or just the sheer number of countries to which we were sending our servicemen and servicewomen. Either way, it was hard–hard on the servicepeople, hard on the families they left behind, hard on the communities that suffered in their absence.

I got something in my e-mail the other day that I would like to share. Maybe you have seen it before, maybe not. If you have, it’s probably worth another look. If you haven’t, you should.

It’s called If I Die Before You Wake.

You don’t have to agree with the war in Iraq, or the “action” in Somalia, in Haiti, in Bosnia. You are welcome to believe that it is about oil, or money, or land, or political gain. You can believe in your heart that we have no right to be there. You can believe that the world would be better off if Slovadan Milosovich or Saddam Hussein were still in power, if genocide continued. You can believe that terrorism is still “far away” from us and won’t touch American soil again any time soon. You don’t have to agree with the decisions that our government has made.

But you do have to remember that those decisions were made by our government and those are the folks that should bear the burden of our opinions. Our sons, daughters, husbands, wives, aunts, uncles, dear friends, Mommies and Daddies pledged to fight for WHATEVER our country thought was just and right. They have given up their time, their hearts, souls, families and, often, their lives to do what most of us would never do. They have sacrificed it all for a pittance of a paycheck, because they believe in the good, old U.S. of A. and they deserve every ounce of respect we have to give them.

Perhaps I am more emotional about the subject because I have seen it up close and personal myself.  I remember vividly the tears rolling down scared, sad faces as a battalion prepared to deploy.  I remember the children reaching out chubby, little arms for one last hug before Daddy got on a plane.  I remember the mothers buckling down for another year of single-motherhood, not knowing for sure whether their husbands would be back.   I remember the fear that we all lived with every day they were gone. 

I am thankful that they do the job they do. I am grateful that they chose to defend our right to free speech, to bear arms, to practice religion freely.  I am grateful that they stand watch and allow each and every one of us to sleep peacefully at night. 

To all of our servicemen and servicewomen… thank you for all that you have done, all that you will do, all that you have already sacrificed, and all the sacrifices still to come. My prayers are with you. May God bless you and keep you.

Protected: Big Toe Emergency

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I are an English major

Spelling is a big issue with me. I know I drive my kids crazy with it, but I really don’t think there’s any reason that they can’t spell words correctly. One of my pet peeves related to this spelling thing is spelling a word incorrectly in the answer when the word is right there, spelled correctly, in the question! This makes me crazy and we spend lots of time reviewing and redoing homework. At the end of the day, though, they really are just kids and I expect them to make mistakes sometimes.

I don’t, however, expect corporations to make spelling mistakes. I don’t expect folks who pay hundreds of thousands of dollars to have advertising agencies get their spin out there to make spelling mistakes. I also don’t expect the folks teaching spelling and grammar to my kids to make spelling and grammar mistakes. It seems to me like we’ve lost the basic skill of proofreading and I never cease to be amazed at how often I see examples of it.

Some of my favorites:

On the Red Robin table tent: “Are you thristy?” — Gosh, I hope not. Is that a new kind of disease? Or is that a different way of saying thrifty? Oh…you meant “are you thirsty?” Hope you didn’t pay much for that ad campaign.

On the aisle marker at Wal-Mart: “Table-clothes” — Wow, I had no idea that the word had a hyphen… and have I been mispronouncing it all these years?

On the roundabout sign in front of the local car dealership: “Yeild” — I guess we don’t teach “i before e except after c” anymore, either.

On a kiosk in the mall: “All of our mechanics are cerfified.” — Cerfified, huh? Like with a board and some wax? Big wave, dude?

On a billboard in South Dakota: “Joe’s Toe Service” with a picture of a tow truck. Enough said…

Please add your own “spelling error” observations. I’d love to hear them. Maybe if the list gets long enough we can start a website or something…

Common Sense Badge

I don’t normally watch The Today Show. I have long felt that Today is one of the media’s prime outlets for brainwashing the sheep in America and wreaking as much political havoc as possible, not generally in the favor of God-loving people. That said, I did turn it on this morning while I was getting ready for work. I wanted to catch the news and was drawn in by the story of the missing Boy Scout in North Carolina. I was relieved to hear that they found him and returned him to his folks, safe and sound. Finally, a heartwarming story, some good news for a change. I was interested to hear from the other scouts that were on his camping trip and get all of the details.

It’s important to note that the extent of my knowledge before this news clip was that this Boy Scout was missing. I had no further details. As I listened to the scouts talk, it became clear that this boy had willfully walked away from the camp. Sure, it was awesome news that he was found, but the kid walked away! He didn’t get lost on a hike, or fall and hit his head and make decisions resulting from a concussion, or drink contaminated water and become delirious. He knew what he was doing. He had a plan. He walked away! Not only did he walk away, but he planned to hitchhike home!

Like all parents, I can tangibly feel the sense of relief his folks must have had when they finally heard he was alright. I can’t imagine the agony they have been through in the past few days while he was missing. However, my “glad he’s OK” reaction quickly turned to “that kid needs a dose of common sense!” I don’t know what his parents’ plan of action will be now that he’s safe, but I can tell you what mine would be once we were over the reunion hump. I would make sure that the kid absolutely NEVER made that kind of decision again. His father spoke, in particular, about the hitchhiking thing, saying, “We’re going to have our lectures about hitchhiking again. We’ve had them in the past, but with a special vigor, we’ll go over that again with Michael.” Uh… yeah… and how about adding in some “don’t ever walk away from camp again” with a special vigor? How about “talk to your Scout leader if you’re homesick”? How about “suck it up and deal with it for the next day instead of thinking you’re the king of survival at 12″? How about “start using your brain right now”? How about some common sense?!?!?

At the risk of turning this into a political debate, I think this is a perfect example of why this country is falling apart at the seams. We don’t teach our kids any responsibility for their actions. We don’t make it clear to them that they make choices and those choices carry consequences. I’m blown away that this kid just up and decided to walk away from camp (he’s 12, mind you) with no thought for the possible ramifications of this decision. I’m further blown away by his parents decidedly toned-down reaction… yes, we’ll have to talk about that… HELLO? Does it matter that his parents spent days in agony waiting to hear about his fate? Does it matter that the county spent thousands of dollars and man hours on the search effort? Does it matter that this Boy Scout troop will now have to enact eight million rules to make sure something like this never happens again? Of course we’re glad he’s alive, but how about making him aware of just how his actions have affected all involved. How about making sure he’s doing a paper route for the next several years so he understands the expenditure the county made on his behalf?

All of these thoughts are racing through my head as I’m listening to the news clip wind down, when I hear Meredith Viera ask the question to end all questions. She’s talking to the other members of the troop and marveling at the survival skills the kids have learned. She’s impressed by all that they know and wonders if these skills contributed to his ability to stay alive in the woods for a couple of days. She asks the troop…

Get this…

Are you paying special attention here?

“Is there some sort of special award or medal he will receive for this?”

WHAT?!?!?!?!? Are you crazy? How about the award for the least thought put into a decision? How about a Jeff Foxworthy “Here’s Your Sign” Medal? How about a trophy for “Least Use of Common Sense” this week? I think Meredith might have inhaled too many fumes on her way to work this morning. Not only is there really no “root cause analysis” happening here, but we think this kid should be rewarded? Incredible.

Again I say that this is a perfect example of what’s wrong with us. Kids are growing up all over this nation with these same ideas. They can do whatever they want and we teach them nothing about the natural order of things. We teach them nothing about personal responsibility, nothing about consquences for their actions, nothing about critical thinking, nothing about problem solving… nothing about common sense. Instead, we reward them for poor behavior, coddle them through their bad decisions, make sure their feelings don’t get hurt by giving them a dose of reality, sue someone else for their failure to use the old noggin’ (think Easy Bake Oven burns and Superman costumes), and we wonder why we’re raising generation after generation of co-dependent, selfish, unmotivated people with zero for problem-solving skills.

The best part? At the end of the story, Dad says the kid is worried about the schoolwork he’s missed. “He’s worried about make-up work in Miss Self’s class, so if Miss Self could cut him a break, he would be very, very grateful.”

Mark my words, this kid will grow up to be a politician one day… I’ll let you guess which party.

The “B” word

I went in for my regular annual checkup last week. OK, like every other regularly scheduled appointment in my life, it has really been two years, way past time to go. Waiting an extra year carries with it a bit of inherent worry. The system has taught us that if we go every year like clockwork, we can catch most of the uglies before they’re really bad. So, I’ve been a bad girl and skipped a year. I was hoping it would be no big deal.

This checkup is one of those things where you want to get in, get out, and move on. It’s like getting on an airplane, having someone check your oil, the nurse putting something in your IV line. Uneventful is good. At no point during any of these things do you want someone to say “oops” or “interesting…” or “hmmmm….”. My perfect annual checkup involves someone doing the necessary looking around, writing some stuff in my chart, and saying, “See you at this time next year.”

This year’s exam did not go that way. I got BOTH “hmmmm…” and “interesting…”. In fact, I’m such an overachiever that Dr. A had never before seen this particular anomaly (pronounced “nodule”) and wanted Dr. Z to take a look.

“Do you mind if Dr. Z comes in to take a look?” she says.

What are my options, here? It’s the same question, really, as “Why don’t you have a seat?” while you’re waiting to renew your tags at the DMV. You’re not going to tell them that you would prefer not to have a seat and you’ll just hang around the desk until they’re ready for you, even though you wish they would staff the DMV adequately so that you don’t have spend half a day in the aforementioned seat. You just resign yourself to the wait and take the seat. It’s a rhetorical question.

In this situation, I certainly wish there were no anomaly, and no, truth be told, I don’t want Dr. Z to look at it. But, look at it she must, so I say, “No, not at all.”

Dr. Z takes a look and has the same reaction as Dr. A. More “hmmmm….” more “interesting…”. Then, the coup de grace… “I have never seen anything like that before, either.” Wow. Not only am I an overachiever, but I am SUCH an overachiever that Dr. A has never seen this before and would like Dr. Z’s opinion, AND Dr. Z, in twenty plus years of practice, has also never seen this before. Why can’t I just have a normal exam like everyone else?

After a little conference in the hallway, Dr. A returns and suggests that we do a biopsy. The “B” word. I can’t stand that word. A few years back, I had the same recommendation, although for a different part of the anatomy, and I dread the procedure. More than I dread the procedure, I dread the wait between the procedure and the answer. I think there should be a law that says you can’t mention the “B” word to someone unless you can have a definitive answer within five minutes.

Dr. A goes on to assure me that this is most likely nothing and the “B” word is just precautionary. But just to make sure that I understand the possible ramifications of not having the “B” word, she throws in a story about someone she saw recently that had normal test results. They saw something that looked “just a tad out of the ordinary” and it turned out to be malignant. So just to be cautious, I should go ahead and have the “B” word. I’m on board.

“How about now?” I suggest.

“Nope, can’t do it today. We’re all booked. But check with the receptionist. She can square you away.”

I head for the receptionist and, because the “B” word has not quite sunk into my brain yet, I schedule for several days out. I try to fit this “little procedure” into my very busy work/kid/husband/life schedule and that’s the only time I can find. I go on my way, with the “B” word in the back of my mind.

My husband is not pleased that I have chosen to put this “little procedure” off and he gives me the third degree when I get home. My mother, a nurse by trade, is also not pleased with the delay. Between the two of them, they convince me that I should bump it up a slot or two (or ten) on the to-do list, that no one will die of starvation in the time it takes to get it done, that the folks at my place of employment will not miss me for the hour or so I have to be gone, and that the world as we know it will not cease to exist if I actually take the time to go make this happen, RIGHT AWAY.

I call the receptionist the next morning and, miracle of miracles, they can fit me in that afternoon.

That was last Wednesday. The procedure was not fun. I didn’t expect it to be. Anytime someone cuts something out of your body, it’s painful and it takes some time to recover. But the physical part is a little like stubbing your toe right before you fall and shatter your ankle. The toe-stubbing hurts, but the ankle shattering, the mental part in between last Wednesday and now, that is agonizing.

That is why I hate the “B” word.

The “B” word isn’t such a bad little word on its own, but it leads immediately (or pretty quickly) to thoughts of the “C” word. The “C” word leads to thoughts of everything else catastrophic that might happen. I picture myself going through chemotherapy, radiation, losing my hair, whatever. I wonder if I’ll be around long enough to see my kids grow up, go to college, get married. Will I be around to meet my grandchildren? All these questions from that one, small, “B” word. I convince myself in my scared-to-death, illogical brain that because neither Doctor has ever seen this anomaly before it must be suspect. I surf the web and get so much bad news I can hardly sleep. I vow to never surf the web again. I throw myself into work. I keep myself busy at home. I zone out in front of the TV. I do whatever works to keep my mind off of it.

It’s been five days now of living in “freaked out” land. I worked all weekend, I’ve slept very little, I’ve stressed a LOT, and I’m so tired today that I figured I could stomach the news without losing what was left of my mind, whatever it happened to be. So I called the office, just to see. Dr. A was busy with a patient, but the receptionist assured me she would call me back as soon as the results arrived.

Sure enough, when I got home this afternoon, the phone rang. My heart pounded, I could hear my pulse racing in my ears. I felt the adrenaline rush. I dreaded the voice on the other end but, at the same time, I prayed it would be good news. I wanted the news, whatever it was, because it was so much better than the things my mind had been imagining for the past several days. I took a deep breath and answered.

It was good news. Just an anomaly, cells are normal. No trace of the “C” word. Thank God! I thanked Dr. A profusely for the call, hung up the receiver… and wept.

Once I got past the tears of relief, I started thinking. Perhaps I can study the process behind the “B” word and find a way to narrow the delay between the question and the answer down to less than five minutes. If that doesn’t work, perhaps some sort of new legislation is in order. Perhaps I need to surf the web to find out what other states are doing about this agonizing wait. Perhaps the whole system needs an overhaul.

Perhaps…

Perhaps I need to turn my brain off for a moment and look to God for reassurance. Perhaps I need to refocus and look heavenward, instead of inward. Perhaps the past few days would not have been so difficult had I turned to God in the first place. He knew what I needed. He knew what I was going through. He heard my prayers, even when I didn’t know what I was asking.

Maybe the “B” word isn’t as evil as I’ve made it out to be. Maybe I need to slow down and realize it’s the “Me” word that needs an overhaul instead.

“In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express.” Romans 8:26