14 March 2011
I got really convicted by my MP3 player a few days ago.
I don’t have a very big MP3 player. It’s a little SanDisk Sansa 4GB job, about the size of one of those old Zippos your grandpa used to light his cigarettes, and I’ve got maybe 300 songs loaded on it. Mostly contemporary Christian songs (what can I say, that’s my joint), and all of them upbeat, since I originally got the Sansa to use while working out. (I haven’t had much energy for that lately, but hope springs eternal …)
More recently, I’ve used it while giving my son Sean his baths. See, Sean may be still recovering from Leigh’s disease (and for that recovery, Lord, much thanks!), but in many ways he is a typical 7-year-old — such as hating to take a bath. He can’t speak, exactly, but he moans the entire time, and in a small echoing space (like, say, our bathroom) that can really wear on the ol’ nerves. So rather than turning into Jack Nicholson from The Shining, I pop in the earbuds, drop the body of it into my shirt/pants pocket, and sing along to a) drown out the moaning and b) hopefully keep the Seanster Monster entertained.
And it was Friday, during bath time (specifically, while drying Sean off) that God, via the Sansa, hit me with a heckuva two-point sermon.
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27 April 2010
It’s quarter to six in the evening, and I just feel beat. No energy at all.
Now, this shouldn’t be. For one, I’ve been working to boost my energy level — taking B-12, drinking Wired, etc. And for that matter, today was the day the respite care nurse comes, so it’s essentially my day off. And while I didn’t get a full eight hours’ sleep last night, I’m pretty sure I got seven (plus some time lying in bed reading). No … sorry, I was about to say “no reason I should be yawning now,” but I had to stop for a yawn … oops, there’s another one. (Looks like Malcolm Gladwell is right; even just reading, er, the “Y word” can cause you to act it out.)
And it’s not like I did a whole lot today — certainly no serious physical labor. I mean, all I did was:
26 April 2010
At the moment, our house doesn’t have a working bathtub.
Kid you not. Our landlord got back to Stockton a few days ago from what has become his semi-permanent home in western Colorado, with a plan to rip out our old tub/shower and everything around it. It’s needed killin’ since before we moved in over six years ago, but recently the rot, mildew and general decrepitude had risen past the point where it could be ignored. So today, he came in with his wife and another guy and started hacking away. As of tonight, the tub is here but not hooked up, the panels to go around it aren’t in place, there’s a pile of debris in our back yard (they had to not only remove the old tub and panels, but also the floor underneath!) – and they still have to take out the floor under the toilet, which is in equally bad shape.
This has caused about the level of disruption you’d expect. My wife and daughter aren’t able to shower tonight. I couldn’t give Sean his bath this morning. There’s plaster dust and bits of sheetrock scattered from here to breakfast. The level of noise in the house and basement today was far above normal. And this is all without them having to turn the water off – yet (that’ll happen tomorrow) – or all the other things that still must be accomplished. It’ll be another day, maybe two, before our lavatory is fully functional.
So how do I feel in the midst of all this chaos? Eh, fine. No worries.
Had this happened a year ago, though … totally different answer.
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