Rhonda Quaney: When Its Weird And Awkward

It's a week old memory how March rushed in, with its twenty-below-zero blasts and icy fingers wrapped around my neck. I was seriously down to my last two unmatched gloves. Normally I don't whine about the weather, because it is something I can't control and seems ridiculous to discuss, but I was just over it already.

That was the day my dad called all nonchalant making small talk, then said, "I fell and hurt myself." He had laid on the floor for over half an hour before being able to crawl to a phone. It made for a good reason to brave the glacial temperatures, hang out and head to the emergency room to bond with others who had similar stories. It's just nuts, how most everywhere I go, people are willing to tell me their stories.

I'm happy to report nothing was shattered except a bit of my dads pride and a lot of his mobility. It's been a long week for him and for me. For him, because he is house bound. For me, because that is how I live. His mind is moving plenty fast to make up for his feet however, thinking of things for people to come do. Thank goodness for my sister who has a servant heart and who is an errand-ninja. I think I'm going to buy her a purple cape and bejeweled crown.

Some days I find it hard to stay in the free-fall of life.

So as a slight diversion, I'm wandering around the house snagging every snowman I can find and smooshing their squishy faces into boxes, then sealing them with duck tape. Maybe this will help spring get a clue and head this way. I don't want one hint of white stuffing sitting around that would encourage old-man winter to take up residency any longer.

For decades I've thought of snowmen, as kind of cute, friendly and rolly-polly, -but not today. The last two spells, of twenty below kind of did me in. Not that I believe them, but I've heard people say that its warmer in Alaska. It doesn't matter, I don't want go there either.

One of the things I have rolling around in my head at 3:00 a.m. is the direction this blog is going. There are some rumbling of change, friends. But change is hard when you've never really had a clear market plan to begin with. Or a real clear writing or voice style.

Some people who read here, come out of shear curiosity or maybe boredom. Some ladies certainly identify with my little rambles down memory lane and casual jaunts about the ones I love. Then there are the major-mini expeditions when I bare my soul, as I tap the keys. There are those who think I should believe more like them, other folks who don't even want me to know, they read my words and some who say they don't get why I write at all. Thank goodness some of you come because you just love me for who I am.

Bless you all, I completely understand.

I do.

Sarah Bessy said it well when she stated, "I'm too liberal for the conservatives and too conservative for the liberals. All I know is that I love Jesus."

I've got boxes of ideas and three computers, plus one, two terabyte, external hard drive of files, filled with my random ramblings. I've had thoughts of writing a book, but as some other famous person once said, "it took me all morning to write a paragraph."

On certain days my lack of style is very freeing to someone with my personality. On many other days it make me kind of more crazy than I already am. The whole writing thing, it's super weird.

It looks a little like this: I pray. I write a little. I make a coffee. I check my e-mail. I turn off facebook because it is a black hole and I will be lost all day. I wander around my office and pray some more and sit down and write some more. This is repeated again and again.

I really live distracted and respond best to deadlines.

All that to say this: I just want to crack the door open a tiny bit and tell you all that come here and put up with me, there are a few changes on the horizon. And maybe like the weather, it might take nine months of winter to make the shift, but it could just march in before April.

This one book I'm still reading and trying to press down into the fiber of my soul, A Million Little Ways, talks about living in the right now. Rolling with the current, right now life and all the high tide of being in over our heads. She talks about not letting second things come first and that when I keep Him first, all the second things will happen anyway. It's like she is speaking some weird, creative language that resonates deep in my soul.

So, I'm still on my snowman-free environment mission, as I step over animal crackers and around the makeshift forts, wishing my handsome husband were here to help clean up the tornado of evidence, that fun was had.

There are trucks, dolls, play money, swords and shields. And there are more animal crackers than the dogs even care to clean up for me. We only have one sword actually, so when we were playing, "good-guys-looking-for-bad-guys", I used an old roll of wrapping paper with a tiny silver flower pattern, as my sword. It was intimidating. The boy and I investigated every room as if we were a highly trained SWAT team entering into a dangerous situation. Well, we didn't have to really pretend, since the house is a mess and in deep need of spring cleaning and decluttering. The walkie-talkies need new AAA batteries so we have to yell whenever we were separated. He was sure that AA batteries could fit, but that is a whole other story.

Little curly headed H, didn't want to play "good-guys-looking-for-bad-guys", but did want to play Candyland. She was doing a fine job of winning until we all joined her and made a real game out of it. What I have found is that small children are willing to cheat to win. Those two were hanging out with Grandma Gooey up near the Candy Castle, while I kept being sent back down Gummy Pass to the three tiered ice-cream cone. Go figure. It made them roar with laughter. And since Great Grandpa P had given them each their own zipped up baggie of lifesaver candy, they were on a sugar buzz that put King Candy and Princess Lolly to shame.

CJ is sitting there with his baby blues and starts telling me stuff that four year old boys think to be important. Then out of the clear sky he states all matter-of-factly, "It was kind of weird."

I'm smiling as I respond, "Really?"

His little-man voice continued, "Yes, it was weird and awkward. They kind of go together grandma."

"Yes, yes they surely do," I answer still smiling.

How could he possibly know that deep truth and I am just trying to figure it out?

After the grand-loves leave I'm chuckling to myself about what he said.

The kid makes me laugh.

Life makes me laugh.

The common everyday, the over the moon amazing, the mess of it all.

The gleaming flashes of Jesus I get to live and see and share.

And then I have the privilege to inscribe it on the world-wide-web, to announce to the world what I'm living and seeing and believing.

That is just crazy.

It makes me come alive.

It causes me to stand in wonder.

It makes me belly-laugh.

Because I was a woman who was broken that God made whole.

I was the woman who was wounded that got healed.

Somehow writing has helped me get down that path of wholeness.

Telling stories has a way of doing that.

Emily Freeman says this and I'm embracing it. "I get to frame things in a way only I can imagine, with a voice only I have."

Life can be weird and awkward.

Writing about it all is even more weird and awkward.

Because as Emily Freeman states, "It can be awkward to be who we most deeply are."

I'm just embracing it.

How about you?

~~~~♥~~~~