Every Day

Every day is a new chance.
What will this one hold?
Where will it take me?
Who might walk in and change its course?
Every day I wake up and wonder.
Some days, I’m surprised.
Most days, I’m pleasantly un-surprised!
Every day is new chance. Take it!

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Open Flame

Open flames are dangerous. It says so on the cover of every aerosol can, paint can and most fluid cans. It has to be true if it’s written down.

The problem is in the level of combustibility

When an open flame, meets a tightly compacted, flammable substance…sparks shoot out first. Sometimes they can catch the house you worked so hard to build on fire.

Flames lick the walls and blacken the ceilings.
Roof caves in, expensive furniture up in smoke,
distant sounds of screeching sirens grow closer…a warning that something is wrong
Too late. Unpredictable. Too dependent on shifting winds.

Sometimes the fire just burns itself out until all that’s left is a small, smoldering heap. The flame and the substance both destroyed. A lesson in value. Some items can never be replaced.

Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night.

Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night.

“Big Deal,” you say. “Who doesn’t have the occasional night of insomnia?  It could be caffeine. It could be a nightmare.  It could be the proverbial noise that goes bump in the night.”

Yes, all of the above are possible and probably can explain more than one of my morning surges of energy. 

It is a fact that I have proven, only to myself: Vicky, you have to stop drinking caffeine by noon in order to even begin to drift off to sleep.  Most days, I really do take my own advice.

Nightmares? Those were more of a childhood thing. I don’t think my dreams were any more or less scary than the next kid.  I did used to dream about dinosaurs so much that I would wake up crying. Even as an adult, I have scary dreams; a different kind of scary.  You know the one.   You try to talk but can’t get the words out no matter how hard you try.  (That is a whole other blog topic, Friends.) Or, maybe the one where you fall, and fall, and fall. Spooky stuff!

I don’t really hear bumps in the night, it is more like the untimely rev of motorcycles as they peal out of the subdivision. You see, I purchased a home in a very quiet neighborhood – right next to an increasingly, busier-by-the-day street.

These reasons, valid as they may be, have little to do with my 4 a.m. glances at the bright red letters on my alarm clock.  Once I wake up its like the Kentucky Derby bugle has been blown and my mind is off to the races.

I THINK ABOUT EVERYTHING!!!!!

Can you relate?  Whether your answer is yes or no,  stay with me a while longer as I work through this word everything and what it means to me two hours before the crack of dawn almost every morning for as long as I care to remember.

I don’t know about you, but I love life.  I love the sound of my inhales and my exhales.  I love the way the sunlight streams through the window and how when you least expect it, a rainbow appears in the sky.  I love the taste of blueberries. I love morning talk shows, especially the happy ones with little bad news and lots of confetti.  I love my family.  I love my friends.  I love my shoes.

In spite of all of these loves in my life, there are things I don’t love.  Unfortunately, these are sometimes on my mind during those early morning hours when I would rather be deep in a fairytale-like spell.  I think about how much it hurt.  I think about the friend I lost.  I think about the investments I made in those things and people I truly believed would never leave my side. I think about how it felt when they walked away. 

I think about the years that I can’t get back…and sometimes I cry.

I hold on to the coulda’, shoulda’, woulda’s that cling so tightly to me…and sometimes I cry.

I wake up and wonder why it, whatever the momentary it may be, just didn’t come together…and sometimes, well, you know the rest.

But last night, I slept straight through.  Eight hours baby.  Eight full, glorious blessed hours.

No thoughts of lack. 

No thoughts of loss. 

Once and for all, I gave in.  Yes, it hurt.  Yes, they left. Yes, I missed the moment. Yes, Yes, Yes!

I came to understand that it wasn’t those things clinging tightly to me; I was the one clinging tightly to those things. So I thought, if I’m the one clutching the disappointment, that means I’m the one who can loosen the grip.  Right?!

 And then a miraculous thing happened.

I let go.

White knuckles.  Calloused palms.  Vulcan grip.  All gone.

I let go.

Wounded pride, Unforgiveness, Holding on…Gone!

I let go.

Worrying about the future, wondering why it happened, wondering why it didn’t…History.

Instead, I starting wondering how one woman could have accomplished all the wonderful things I have been privileged to accomplish.  I inhaled.

I remembered that when the wrong people stay too long, God will certainly move them along.  I exhaled.

I started to count each and every un-missed moment that had made my life rich and sweet and memorable.  A wide, slow yawn emerged.

I let go of those few, difficult things that I couldn’t control as my eyelids grew heavier and heavier.

I went to sleep.  I stayed asleep. No nightmares.  No bumps. No bugles.

And woke up needing to control them no more.