Rest, Transplanted and Still Blooming, Cinthia Milner

Get Some Rest (And some Takeout)

Lately, when I wake up, before I even open my eyes, my mind forms the words, “Lord, send back-up. I’m pooped.”

He hasn’t.

I’m still waiting.

Today, I got a little aggravated. It isn’t every day that I openly acknowledge running out of steam. It isn’t every day that I cop to being too exhausted to run the world, or my itty-bitty portion of it. I rarely admit to being overwhelmed or unable. I know, silly me. But, since I did cop to it, I figured God would send in the troops. I imagined him proud and waving off his angels to aid me, saying, “Yes, go. She’s finally learned a new word: Help.”

Well, I did learn a new word. So where the heck is the help? Are the angels delayed as they were with Daniel? (Daniel 10:12) Fighting off the kings of Persia? Is Persia still a country?

I started looking around. Maybe I was missing something. You know, one of those cryptic things right in front of you that you never see or saw. There was nothing, and here I need someone to write garden notes, clean out the grill, dig out the old boards around the now-gone cherry tree so the stump grinder can get in there, detail my car, and go buy some groceries–or better yet–cook. It’s been weeks since I had an actual meal. Cereal and microwave popcorn only get you so far. And, I’m way past the 3 weeks Daniel had to wait.

Come on. One angel that can clean or garden or cook? It can be a runty angel. It doesn’t need to be the warrior angels, Gabriel or Michael. Although, let’s face it, they’re probably getting up there in years by now.

I needed insight into why no extra hands were being provided, so I did my daily Bible Study with the intention of getting to the bottom of it. I was in Mark, chapter 6, when I read verse 31.

Then, because so many people were coming and going that they did not even have a chance to eat, he [Jesus] said to them [his disciples], “Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest.”

Jesus’ disciples were overworked, overwhelmed and likely way over all the people that came seeking Jesus. People who didn’t need a specimen tree in their new landscape, but a miracle for a sick and dying child. Loved ones pleading for loved ones, calling to Jesus for a healing touch. In the midst of that enormous need, Jesus pulled his disciples away to eat and rest.

It explained the missing troops. God wasn’t sending troops. He wanted me to pull away, rest and eat. So okay, but, I literally don’t know how to stop working.

There’s a reason for that. I’m not a workaholic. I have trust issues.

I work hourly. That translates to: If I don’t work, I don’t get paid. That’s a tough pill to swallow for a girl that used to have a benefits package, and a vacation didn’t equal less income. Makes for a sweeter vacay. But, I’m not generally a griper. I’m more of a pragmatist. My reasoning is simple. Since I don’t get paid to take time off, I don’t take time off.  Not even Sundays. My friend, Julia, said, “Sounds like a trust issue to me.”

What does does that even mean? Trust issue about what?

Okay, breaking down Mark 6:31 is easy. We can translate this one literally.

  • First, find a quiet place. My bedroom fits the bill.
  • Second, get away from the hoards needing something from you NOW. Turn the phone/IPad/computer off.
  • Third, maybe get some food, an actual meal. Take out!
  • Fourth, hang out with Jesus. He really can restore a weary soul.
  • Fifth, no work. Just rest. Seriously, do something creative or get some sleep.

But, what about the missing paycheck and the to-do list? What about those people who needed Jesus to give life to the dying, cure the lame, restore sight, and stop bleeding?  What about, what about, what about? Also, in Matthew 6:

Do Not Worry

25 “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? 26 Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? 27 Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life[a]?

28 “And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. 29 Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. 30 If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith? 31 So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ 32 For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. 33 But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. 34 Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.

These are Jesus’ words. He wants me to know that my heavenly father knows my needs, and he has the benefits package. And, there’s the trust thing. I want to trust him with my plan (extra troops and back-up or unlimited sick and vacation days (SAS anyone?)), not his plan (go to a quiet place, eat and rest in the midst of the chaos of life). But, since no troops have arrived, and Persia is now Iran, which could really hold up some angels, my options are to have a nervous breakdown, or get some rest, and trust God to provide.

I’m going for the rest.

Phones are off. Computer is going off. Chinese take-out boxes are on the nightstand. And, hopefully, clients needing it all done now are resting, too.

 

 

Squirt of Ketchup Anyone?

A box of Cheerios breakfast cereal.

A box of Cheerios breakfast cereal. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Here’s what I had for dinner tonight: a few handfuls of stale Cheerios out of the box, a couple of olives out of the jar, and a couple of squirts of chocolate sundae syrup from Nabisco’s’ new no-mess squirt container. I topped it off with a glass of OJ, no pulp. My talent for whipping up a meal knows no bounds.

I did study the refrigerator to see if there was something palatable for dinner. Here’s what I found: 3 Coronas and an old, dried up lime, a cored pineapple in a round, plastic container that was molding in its juice, an assortment of dried up breads, and some romaine lettuce–the kind you can grill, which I really want to try, but do not own a grill.

Now you see why I stalk this woman’s blog, Everyday Occasions. I want her to make avocado and tomato flowers for me, too.

Remember the new pope recently saying that it should be a criminal offense for people to throw away food? Well, that is one crime I am not committing. Wonder what he had for dinner?

Here’s the deal. I live alone. Well, the 19 year old lives with me, but he’s never here, and he always eats with his girlfriend’s family. Which sometimes I handle very well. Other times, not so well. I secretly think he prefers eating with them because they’re still a family, and at least he gets to be part of their family since his family is kaput. And, even though everyone says you’re still a family when you get a divorce, here’s what I have to say about that. They don’t know what they’re talking about.

But mostly, I am just glad the 19 year old is eating somewhere, and I don’t have to cook.

My friend, Kristi, is a vegan. A very serious vegan. She knows things about food you do not want to know. It is horrifying. If I told you, you’d never eat again, and you’d have nightmares for weeks. I’ll spare you. But on my new journey to somewhere (I don’t know where yet), I imagine myself a vegan. Because it makes me skinny. And, because I really don’t like meat anymore. When I eat it, I just feel like ICK.

So, I picture myself all healthy and bright-eyed because I eat this strictly vegan diet, and I am really, really smart about the whole thing. Like I know why I am not eating soy. Which I thought was healthy for you until Kristi said no, it is  not, but I have already forgotten why, though she was quite eloquent on the subject.

So, I see myself eating vegan, and being divorced, and moving forward in my life (which in my picture is pretty glamorous), and everyone being secretly jealous of me because I’m vegan and skinny, and don’t have to cook for a husband who only eats meat and starches. Or, worse, I’m not cooking for a husband with high cholesterol. Try to figure out something healthy that guy will eat, right?

So, I know what you’re thinking, WELL THEN DO IT. I tried. But Kristi refused to cook for me every night. I blame her for the squirt of chocolate, three olives and handfuls of Cheerios. I mean, shouldn’t those who can, feed those who can’t? Doesn’t Scripture say something about feeding the least of these? Kristi, are you reading this?

Anyway.

I am having a bit of an epiphany over here about feeding myself. I’m asking myself the question, how do I want to eat? I’ve never considered that question before, though feeding oneself is likely the most important thing we do each day. The way I fed myself previously was to eat whatever the ex was eating because arguing with him (Mr, Everything Healthy Tastes Like Stale Cardboard) was exhausting. So, I caved and ate the Kentucky Fried Chicken, Bojangles and oh yeah, the real man’s fast food, Hardee’s. I cooked what three guys would eat, and let me tell you, that is a limited palate that does not include vegetables, or as the oldest son said when he was three, “vegables.”

So, here I sit starving, and wondering what food to feed myself, and way too darn tired to fix anything after five days of work. And, there isn’t a “vegable” in the house, so I’m a long way from vegan at the moment. My guess is Sonic will win the day because I do love their tator tots, but hey, it ain’t Hardee’s.