The other day I was telling you that I was going to McDonald's, or "ReDonald's" if your name is Bonus. I also told a few of you that my lunch was not so good the first time (SO glad that two out of three children have outgrown the golden arches), that the second time was even less thrilling. McNuggets burp-back and other things plagued me for the rest of the day and even into the next morning. Mr. Incredible said I deserved it for actually eating lunch there. MEAN. MEAN. MEAN. Sigh. He's probably right. I can't eat like I used to. No more large pizzas for me to eat all by myself. Those were the days. For one thing, it goes straight to my butt. For another thing, I never understood all the fuss about reflux and heartburn and indigestion until a couple of years ago.
Well, I went to McDonald's to visit with an old friend who has experienced an enormous amount of change in her life over the past few years. Moving. New husband. New baby. And I realized in our conversation that although my children have grown taller and my age has crept ever so closer to the number that is called forty (but what's a number, right?) and my dress size is smaller, that I have not done much changing over the past few years. BORING! Staus quo is okay sometimes, but othertimes, it calls into question thought life, heart condition, priorites, relationships, responsibilities, and plain, old growing up. Because growing up and growing old are two distinctly different animals. Growing up requires forward momentum while growing old simply requires a changing calendar. One will happen regardless of whether I do anything (unless I get stuck in a Groundhog Day portal, which would not be all bad for a short while. Can anyone arrange that for me? I have a few hundred days I could use a do-over on.), and the other requires work, which God honors and expects.
And, I have commenced with some weeping forward in the past two months during a study of Ruth (not me--more patience, kindness, and love on the part of my Strong Tower, Shelter, my Hiding Place). I have gleaned (no pun intended or completely intentional. you choose.) a small amount of wisdom on the threshing floor of Boaz.
Which doesn't mean I have to abandon my Whip-It dream. It just means I have learned that forgiveness and forgetfulness are not necessarily bed-buddies. They are for some people, one Cubavera-wearing-person in particular in my story, which kinda sucks for me, but they are not BFFs in my story. And that's more than okay. If we forget our pasts because there is pain or sin, I do think we are more likely to head down that road again. It's a fine balance between remembering and wallowing. And, I have done my fair share of wallowing, just to be crystal clear.
At any rate, the book of Ruth has been special to me for years, and it never fails to wreck me. And I do mean wreck, destroy, obliterate. But in the best kind of way. It tears me down to the essential elements of belief and faith. His truth never changes. There is no promise that life will be happy-go-lucky. Bad things will happen to me. Bad things have happened to me. Godly people will continue to do ungodly things. He is still good. He still redeems unlikely people in the most unlikely ways. Ultimately, El is involved in the most intricate details of my life and uses all things for the good of those who love Him (Romans 8:28). It's all about perspective. When I get back to the basics, what else can I possibly need.
A shower. I desperately need a shower. And brushing my teeth might be a good idea since it is lunch time. Sorry. It's just one of those mornings.