Besides painting, something quite fascinating overran my calendar. I’m reading about sex.
Let’s all take a moment to grasp the enormity of this revelation.
Why in heaven’s name would Ida Mae be reading a book on physical intimacy when she is no longer physically intimate? When she intends to stay celibate thanks much? When she believes Paul had the right idea and singleness is preferable to matrimony?
Because my children keep asking questions I cannot answer, drat their hides.
Annoying Complications of Life and Stuff
Unplanned sex books were not on the agenda for this week but one of the kiddies had the nerve to ask a question on the male physical response. I turned fourteen shades of purple, slapped a hand over my mouth before blurting out something cynical and jaded (although I must admit, rather humorous) then did the only sensible thing. I stalled.
Off we go for this week’s regularly scheduled angry walk.
Why, Oh Lord do I have to talk to these kiddies about sex? I know nothing healthy. Nothing at all. Did I mention I know nothing? Why me?
Why oh Why oh Why?
How the blue blazes am I suppose to answer when all I have is a nice fat pile of rotting manure? Nothing to draw on, no understanding of loving intimacy— which reminds me, by the way, You promised to be a father to the fatherless. How about You talk to them?
Now that is a fine idea. These pups are worse than fatherless. They are offspring of an anti-dad who spoon-fed the whole lot poison. Poison!
Just to clarify, many angry walks end in squirrel sightings. I have a sneaking suspicion He sends them around on purpose for just this reason.
Several days later, another dear child of my heart comes along with a question which shall forever remain unwritten. Not that I’m keeping score, but this one was a doozy. And then another. It becomes quite apparent that the kids are trying to kill me.
What is this madness? Spring fever? Synchronized hormones? Much prayer and many angry walks later, I chose the only reasonable course of action–let them learn on the street like the rest of us.
The kidlets are on their own.
Problem Solved, Life is Good
The day after number three takes awkwardness to Olympic levels, I am busy minding my own business. My heart is at peace, nary a stray thought of physical intimacy within a two block radius. Being as the weather is fine, I head off to God’s Store to peruse the latest selection in mismatched dishes (that’s Goodwill to you heathen). I browse through ugly lamps without lampshades, saucers without cups, tables without chairs and there, on the book rack between Harry Potter and Rug Making for Dummies sits Intended for Pleasure by Ed Wheat, M. D.
I may be dense, but I can take a hint. As I walk out the door, book in hand, I hear the Lord snickering, no lie.
Remembering Who Loves Me
When He promised to take care of those who put Him first, He meant it. When we ask, it delights Him to provide. Sometimes I forget. But not this week. Standing there in the middle of a store I’ve visited a bajillion times, holding exactly the right book at exactly the right moment—at thirty percent off, no less—I know Who stocked the shelves.
Sometimes the challenge of just getting by takes me under. Simple stuff like finding a job or renting an apartment consumes massive amounts of energy needed for better things. How will I ever handle the important stuff? Like parenting these beautiful, annoying, lively children who just want a chance to be happy? How can a Mom ever guide her offspring, providing the wisdom of both parents, when she’s so damaged herself? Some days, it’s too much to bear.
And then God surprises me at the thrift store. Glad He didn’t send a squirrel to hold the door, that might have been a bit much.