Blankets and Names

I lost my son's blanket today. What misery. I wish I wanted anything as much as I wanted to find that blanket. I probably want those Reese's peanut butter eggs that much. Maybe not even those. Oh Lord, I was desperate.

I was praying out loud. Over and over. People heard me, saw me. I was a crazed woman. I was frantic and I was rushing because I was sure that someone terrible had stolen it, trashed it, hidden it from me. I can hear the paranoia too; it's not just you.

But there it was. Sitting on the bench at the park, exactly where I had left it. Exactly where my two year old son had tried to give it to a six month old baby. He is a bird in the air. He does not worry about where he will eat or where he will sleep. He flies, he sings. He trusts me.

And he is so unaware of how bad it would really be to give away his blankie, his Bay. He doesn't consider his future needs. He just sees a baby and wants to comfort her, make her feel good, well, cozy, at peace.

His name means 'peace' and I see him walking in that birthright all the time. My name means 'temple, house.' I am sturdy, immovable, supported, framed, steady. I hate change. Big ol' house.

Of God. God has many names. Most are the ones we gave Him. We are still naming Him.

I call Him Blanket Giver.

Peace Giver.

Did He just see me and want to comfort me, make me feel good and well and cozy and at peace?He left it right where I would find it. He gives away so many things.

I wish I could be more like my son. Give away and remain at peace. Can I inherit the best characteristics of my children from my children?

I wonder if God ever inherits anything from us.

Panic

I think I am having a panic attack.

Right.

Now.

I can feel my heart rate up, I am nauseous and short of breath. I feel that impending sense of doom. I am dizzy. I want to throw up. The waves keep coming.

My husband and I are fighting. I suppose it is part of the whole thing, the whole marriage thing, the whole life thing. We fight, we talk, we grab at one another, we ask for our wages, our peace, and then work out the details, see what it is that we can live with.

And then we do it again.

My mother-in-law says that it starts to happen faster, the older you get. I could be 60. It actually sounds kinda cool. Simpler life, fewer people to be responsible for, no puppies, smaller house, more wisdom, more experience. Yeah, I could definitely wreck some shit if I was 60.

I am still in the worker phase though, the long days in the sun, tearing at the roots, pulling the weeds, preparing the soil, praying for rain. The young children, the money that never seems to stretch to the seams, the hard work at jobs that we need to support us, the mess, the clutter, the unendingness of it all.

It is not quite my time for faster fights.

I wonder if she still has panic attacks.

I hope I get to find out.

New Puppy

I don't know why God wants us to change and grow. My guess is that He is still creating this world and in this world and He prefers us malleable. Easier on the fingers, I suppose. I also think that He wants to improve our lives by gently or terribly, roughly, miserably drawing us farther from ourselves and closer and closer to Him.

We got a puppy. She is sitting next to me right now. And while this puppy is cute and sweet and she smells like puppy and she stumbles all over herself like puppy...the truth is that I hate having a puppy. I hate how out of control a puppy makes me. I hate that I cannot plan for the behavior of a puppy, the needs, the time commitments, the strain, the requirements of having a puppy. I hate how it makes my mind race. I hate how my heart beats in my chest and I can't breathe. I hate how sick to my stomach it all makes me feel. I hate puppies.

And it all really does make me feel this way. I am terrified of this little, tiny, nonhuman life.

She is change. Change for our family, change for my life, change to the routine, change to our rhythm. And I resist change.

And God keeps putting change in my path.

It is hard to not be hard-hearted about it. To trust that time will fill in some of these gaping, empty holes in my heart and in my belly. To wait patiently for a new kind of something to emerge with new relationships and new norms. To believe that something different could, in fact, be good.

I can't imagine how it felt for the Jews who encountered Jesus. How would I have ever believed it? Trusted, waited, believed? Sunday is Easter and all I can think is what a terrible Christian I am and thank you to God.

Thank you for changing the world through a puppy in my time and not the second coming of Jesus. I would be in so much trouble if that was the case. I would probably ditch the puppy, pray for the rapture, and board up my windows. Such faith....

She is waking up. Time to get back to it.