Giraffes Again

   In the hilarious Jim Gaffigan video "Mr. Universe", he talks about staying at a Disney resort for a family vacation. There were giraffes (Giraffes!) outside the window of his hotel room, but after a few days he became bored with it--"(sigh) Giraffes again. Why couldn't it be a lion? or maybe a lion eating a giraffe?" Giraffes again has become my new expression for becoming inured to even positive experiences. We have been in Dallas for two and a half weeks now. There have been blue skies and temperatures in the sixties most of that time. I have not had to clean anything but laundry, or cook anything but my own lunch. I have eaten in my favorite restaurants like Red Lobster, Olive Garden, and Joe's Crab Shack. I have had ample time to rest, recover from knee replacement, and read. I am ready to go home, but I have not yet reached the giraffes again stage of being in Dallas.
     One of the perks of staying at a Residence Inn is the free breakfast. Of course there is the do-it-yourself waffle bar, toaster and cereal that most hotels provide now, but there are also scrambled eggs, meat, potatoes, oatmeal, muffins, fruit and yogurt. Yet, despite the abundant variety, I have reached the giraffes again stage of the hotel breakfast. To put this in perspective, my normal breakfast is fruit, toast and tea. I am hardly a gourmand. Yet somehow--giraffes again.
    As American Christians, it is easy for blessings to become blase (can't figure out how to put on the accent mark, but it's French.)  Sunny, sixties in January may be fairly normal for Texans, but it is an extraordinary experience for a Montana girl and I want it to stay extraordinary. I want to marvel at the giraffes God puts in my life again, and again.

The Day I Knew

     When my youngest son announced his engagement two years ago, I found out that not only would I be gaining a daughter-in-law, but a two year old granddaughter. I had wanted to be a grandmother for a long time. It seemed the least my children could do to repay me for the sacrifice of raising them. What I did not envision was that my grandchild would also be a stranger I had just met. When she and Amanda came over, McKenzie played with her mom and I sat there like some form of friendly furniture. I bought better toys for our toy closet, but I wanted to be the thing she played with.
     Months went by with this same grandma/guest dynamic and I wasn't sure how to change it. Finally Thanksgiving came, Tracy and company were at our house for dinner. I was taking advantage of some down time to visit in the living room when MacKenzie asked me if I wanted to hide with her under her blanket. So there we were side by side on the floor, Kenzie completely covered, me sticking out except for head and shoulders, both of us giggling because  mommy and Tracy couldn't find us. My granddaughter and I were going to be friends. That was the day I knew.
    

The Goodness of the Son

     As I sit here in the gazebo of the hotel soaking in the evening rays of the winter sun here in Dallas, it reminds me that two years ago about this time I was doing the same thing, except that I was in Boise where it was an exceptionally foggy winter, and brisk even on sunny days. Both times I had just had a knee replacement, although the knee I rehabbed in Boise was as problematic as the weather and this knee just needs a little fine tuning.  The weight of winter is lifting from my soul. My husband tries, but does not understand, the way the white winter skies of Kalispell affect me, though I have tried to explain it. I feel the emotional equivalent of having my head slightly under water, just enough that I cannot breathe, and the mental version of static in my brain that keeps me from thinking clearly until sundown when I can no longer see the white skies. Surgery, under the best of circumstances, is stressful on body and mind. Surgery in, or just before, winter is especially so for me.
     That is why I had planned to have this second knee replacement in the spring, but my knee had other plans. Halfway through a Labor Day trip to Missouri with my dad, my right knee would neither straighten nor pivot without the kind of pain that made me gasp and grab something to support myself. A cortisone shot helped, but I was afraid that if my knee spent more months in that bent position, I would have difficulty straightening it after the surgery. So once again God arranged for Reed's work requirements to get us out of cloudy Kalispell in the winter. That is why I am in sunny, 60 degree Dallas drinking in the goodness of the sun. That is why I trust God with not only my future, but with my family's. God has shown himself to know what I need and to be faithful too many times to doubt him.  My unspoken prayer is a heartfelt, if unoriginal, repetition of thank you, as I sit here in the hotel courtyard basking in the goodness of the Son.