Sunday, August 30, 2009

Shoes, sandwiches, and a leftover dish

I’ve lived with boys before; I have two brothers, and from this I have learned that if they take a leftover dish anywhere you will never see it again. This has been an undisputable fact at my parent’s house ever since the eldest son got his first job. Knowing that men have this pattern I have accepted it without much thought. Naturally, when Paul went off to do temp work this last week I sent him off with some chili and waved goodbye forever to the plastic container in his hand. But when I arrived home from work I was startled by the sight of that dish with its blue lid rinsed off and sitting in the sink. This is not normal man behavior. I shrugged it off as a fluke, and when the next day arrived I once again filled a plastic dish I knew I’d never see again with chili and kissed that man I love on his way out the door.

I get off work at 3:30 and took my time on the walk home. The weather was good and I was enjoying listening to Taylor Swift on my ipod. I’ve been on a bit of a country kick this week. I walked up the stairs to the apartment and unlocked the dead bolt. The door swung open and the first thing I notice is that same dish by the sink. Two days in a row. I felt slightly haunted and impressed at the same time. This was going against everything I had been taught since I was fourteen years old! Third time’s a charm, I thought and waited to see if tomorrow would bring about the same results. I was not to be disappointed because day number three, after five hours of work and seven hours of class, he still remembered. I’m starting to come to the conclusion that either there is something wrong with my husband’s ability to function like a normal man, or that all guys cannot be judged by ‘brother standards’. Although, I’m pretty sure it’s the latter.

On a more serious note: this week was a week of many blessings. For a long time I have not had a good pair of tennis shoes. I walk a lot more now and the holes that already graced every surface of my existing sneakers have only gotten worse. Every day when I get home I examine the dirty spots on my socks that are being exposed to the elements. But at least the shoes still have soles (that’s what I’ve been telling myself every time I drive by the Payless or Famous Footwear). But fall is coming, and after fall is winter and imaging the walk to work with soggy feet wet from snow is not very pleasant. Today I received a call from the Relief Society President in my ward that happens to be the same shoe size as me, with slightly wide feet like mine, and coincidently has a pair of sneakers that she no longer needs. How did she know that I needed them? I’m not sure, possibly a lady I visit teach told. But I’m just grateful. They fit nicely and there are no holes. It’s nice to know that I’m being looked after.

Monday night I made a large pot of chili because I thought, “we could save on groceries and eat something with chili on it every night.” We had chili and cornbread, chili-topped baked potatoes, Navajo tacos, and chili on rice. But after eating chili for two meals every day, I started to tire of the bean concoction. Friday night I had an old friend visit and when I invited her to stay and have dinner with us she insisted on taking us out to eat. Perhaps it was her fear of my cooking or maybe it was divine inspiration— I couldn’t eat another bite of that soup that day—or whatever it was, I am filled with gratitude for Angela and Arby’s roast beef sandwiches.

These were two little things, shoes and sandwiches, but I was very touched by these women and how in tune they are with the spirit. But I had another thought. These were both things that I was too embarrassed to ask Father for when I prayed. I figured that it would somehow be ungrateful of me to ask for shoes when mine still had laces or to ask for a night out to eat with a gallon of chili still in the fridge. But the Lord knew what I desired and needed and sent angels to watch over me. This reminds me of the First Vision when Heavenly Father and Jesus appeared to the boy Joseph and called him by name. I wish I had language eloquent enough to describe what joy it brings me that my Creator knows my name. He knows my personality, my quirks, my weaknesses, and he loves me still . . . and he blesses me still.

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