Waves

The crap, when it comes, seems to come in waves. Surf’s up. In ascending order of importance, here’s what has washed ashore in the past twenty-four hours:

• I was late. I had to get to Thomas Worthington High School, right now, to serve as judge/scorer for Doug Buckley’s kids, who were participating in a poetry contest. I needed to turn left onto SR 161. I could see the high school. It was just a couple hundred yards away, on the left. And yes, I saw the Right Turn Only sign, too. But I didn’t want to turn right. I wanted to turn left. And so I took the law into my own hands, at which point the Law took me into its hands, pulled me over with lights flashing, and issued me a traffic citation. As they say in schools, Reading is Fundamental. So is following through on what you read. And so I am kicking myself. Stupid. There is a way in which a man should go, and then there is the high school on the left.
• Kate found out this morning that she is almost certainly going to be laid off from her job by the end of the week. It’s the usual corporate story that we’ve seen repeated ad nauseum over the last ten years, but it’s unusual because this time it’s a hospital, and this time it’s Kate. I’m actually somewhat inured to it in the IT/telecom world. The hospital is losing money, so positions have to be eliminated. All of those congestive heart failure patients who benefited from nurses visiting them in their homes are out of luck. And so is Kate, and so is everybody else in her department. It sucks. Aside from the normal reaction of feeling like your guts have been kicked in, Kate is struggling with how this is going to pan out financially. We’ll be okay, and it truly will be interesting to watch God work, but with one, and soon to be two, kids in college, this is not a great time to be downwardly mobile. Prayers for a quick transition to a new, challenging and rewarding job would be appreciated. Yes, RN jobs are plentiful. RN jobs with decent hours, decent pay, and with a nice blend of medicine, teaching, and social work – which Kate thrives on – are not. Please pray for her, and for us.
• Our friend Joyce died on Saturday, but we didn’t find out until last night. I walked in the door, traffic ticket in hand, to be told that she had passed away Saturday evening. So tonight is the funeral home; tomorrow is the funeral. I did my crying last night, and I’ve been okay at work today, but I’m not betting on emotional stability at the funeral home in a little while. I get pretty shaky just thinking about it. I don’t know what to say, other than it hurts, and God is good. I know all the clichés – she’s been released from the pain, she’s in a better place now, yada, yada, yada. I believe those things, too. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to say a single one of them to my friend Don. I’ll probably hug him and tell him I love him, because I do, and I can do that with a clear conscience, and still live with myself in the morning. God, death stinks. That’s a prayer, by the way. I’m not telling Him anything He doesn’t know. And it’s nothing but moaning. But sometimes you have to moan.