Mustaches and Straws

It was THE straw. And at the worst most possible time. You see I’m a bit like Mary Poppins. I tend to carry all worldly possessions in my purse, ahem, bag because you never really know when you might need something. Hungry? No problem, granola bar. Headache? Ibuprofen. Coffee breath? Runny nose? Apple or cheese needing sliced? I’ve got the solution for the dilemma: gum, tissues, hair barrettes, pens, pencils, crayons, tweezers, and yes a pocket knife that has come in handy, I must admit, for way too many excursions. And who has time to put on a face before running out the door? Besides it’s way more fun squeezing it in while at a stop light or in the parking lot so any and all people can see the transformation, which necessitates that the makeup I own…or has been graciously hand-me-downed…is crammed into what is affectionately known as my carpet bag.

This morning’s routine was no different. Throwing clothes on, shoving food down, making sure the crazy amounts of meds get in the system and that kids have on proper attire and clean faces, I grab coffee to go and fly out the door. And here we are pulled up at the ninth hour into the church parking lot putting on the final touches of lipstick when the light falls just perfectly across the face to reveal a very full mustache developing across my upper lip and there is nothing in this carpet bag of mine that can even begin to solve this problem not to mention how am I to gather these nerves and emotions about to simmer right over in time to stand in front of everyone and lead an entire set of music for morning service. I know it all sounds so full of vanity and first world problems but it has been that kind of a week and for the moment I hate cryptogenic organizing pneumonia, and asthma and pollen that has me trapped in the house for fear of another sinus infection, and the mask that I have to wear if I want to walk outside with my kids (sorry in advance to all the neighbors I frighten) and prednisone that has me going through clothing sizes and making hair grow in strange places and the endless doctor visits and allergy shots that eat up time like caterpillars on leafs and I just want to run away and hide and stop fighting this daily battle because I am weary. And weary means there will be tears and lots of them. I’m also thankful for my Saint David who stands graciously beside me all the while comforting and affirming and the myriad of friends praying and sending love, but for now…just for today….a bed of tears will do the trick, and somewhere, somehow I know I too will wake and accept all these changes without the need for control and I will remember that this is a season and it isn’t forever and there is a miracle waiting on the other side of the door. And at least for the moment I can take comfort that my day isn’t as bad as this guy has it:



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