152

And now I share what I have learned since blog #151. This could get real dull, real fast. Funny thing is, I do learn things from the little mundanities (I have no idea if it's a word. It should be. The mundane things of life. I'd better call Oxford and tell them I have a new entry for them) of life. Who knows when they will present themselves at your doorstep, waiting for you to decide whether you will ignore them and step over them in the pursuit of your day, or sit with them a while and learn something?

I've had no choice but to sit with the little guys this past week. I've been an annoying sort of sick. Not enough to make me feel justified in doing nothing and sleeping all day, but enough that my voice was disappearing fast. Typically, that's not a huge deal. The week before a nationwide conference at which I'm slated to lead the singing, it's frightening. Thursday it was fading, so on Friday I went on a self-imposed ban on talking and whispering. It was one big game of charades at our house, and the kids loved it. I felt like an idiot, knowing I had the ability to speak but writing notes or waving my arms around to try to salvage my poor vocal chords.

Saturday was more of the same, and while I felt dumb in every sense of the word D was kind and a huge help but amused. Sunday morning I talked, sang nothing, and then the ban was back on Sunday afternoon. Last night's rehearsal was where the mundanities started showing me things. They reminded me that I'm expendable. While it might be nice to be irreplaceable, there's also some serious pressure in that. The amazing band crew came to the rescue and we planned possible other leaders to songs I had planned to lead. This morning I was reminded during my study time that God's pleasure in me is not reliant on my performance. Even when my abilities fail, the love is still there.

Little M was love in action on Saturday afternoon. I had gone to sleep for a bit, and woke on my bed to hear little elfin footsteps go across the room, then a slight rustling, then back out of the room. Back and forth, back and forth went the tiny tread. I opened my eyes to hear her whisper "no, Mommy! Go back to sleep!" I obliged, curious but still tired. Then I heard a wee voice from the door say "one, two, three!" and the lights were turned on, and the door closed. I sat up to see what she had done. There was my room, transformed as only a seven-year-old can do it. Pieces of looseleaf, cut to resemble crude snowflakes, adorned my bed, the shelf, the dresser. A Lego robot hung in the window (??) and a whole herd of My Little Ponies stood on the chest at the end of the bed, looking at me. My slippers had been placed beside the bed and on the floor, her socks and a scarf made a little happy face.

Was it practical? No. I cleaned up most of it later. Was it loving, did it warm my heart, make me feel better in a way nothing else could? Absolutely.

The conference starts tomorrow and while I continue to keep talking to a miniumum, hope and pray that my voice returns, continue to drink hot lemon and honey, take vitamin C by the handful, and plan to pick up some serious medication to get me through the week, I know all is not lost and I am valuable and I am loved even if I don't sing a note.