My life is in a bundle

On the move again.

From glory to glory.

Instead of fighting or resisting the work God does in my heart, I have learned to rest in Him.

He carries me, you know.

You too.

I was reminded of that while reading this book.

Remember when David is angry and he's going to kill Nabal and Nabal's wife Abigail smoothes everything over and tells David that his life is carried by the Lord in a bundle.

In David's era people did not travel with suitcases.

Instead, they put their most precious treasures in a bundle when they moved from one place to another.

Your life is in a bundle.

Mine too.

Thank God.

And lo, there was a great big empty hole

Well, I've returned from my h ometown.

Back into the garden to learn the fate of my spinach.

Dead.

All of it.

Killed and destroyed by the ravages of the yard war between the gopher and the cats.

The gopher?

Dead.

All of it.

Destoryed by the claws of the cats, I suppose.

I don't really know.

I wasn't here.

And the cats?

Dead.

I hope.

Wouldn't that be a great way to end this little saga? Everyone dead and me left standing in the wasteland of it all.

It's the stuff novels are made of.

Novels that are made into movies.

As my aunt said to me the other day, "Hi, my name is Allie and I like to be dramatic."

It follows me everywhere.

Lucky me, no evidence to prove that the cats killed the gophers...therefore I don't need to thank them.

Drama, drama, drama. Real and imagined.

Definitely imagined.

Solitude

Emergency has brought back to my hometown.

An aunt with a potato salad and a plate of veggies brought me here.

To my true home.

The one that never leaves my heart even though my feet takes me miles from its solitude.

In spite of everything, it's good to be back.

The pause before the storm

The clouds are grey and hang heavy.

The wind is blowing fiercely and reminding us that it truly has the power to keep us indoors.

We haven't seen the sun in 6 days.

All is quiet.

No action from the cats.

No action from the gophers.

Not a problem. I am patient like a lion waiting to pounce and devour its prey.

The spinach recover from the shell shock of past battles.

My brave spinach.

The battle is on hold...for now.

I'll keep you posted.

Let the Fur Fly

My garden has become the official battleground where nature has decided to re-enact the Crimean War.

Oh, I know the Crimean War was a long fought saga. But with all this rain and dirt, Crimean works better than relating this to the trenches that housed our soldiers in Dieppe. Although, the trenches may have been infested with the same animals from the rodent Geomyidae family, as well.

It’s a toss up-- Crimean War or WW2 orgin.

The point is my garden has now been seized as a battle zone.

My sidewalk is no man’s land.

And I am an innocent villager being pillaged by the effects of this horrible war.

The ground is no longer mine.

But we still gather to watch what is happening. We are, if nothing else, avid spectators.

Gopher flies through the air. Point for cat.

Cat dodges agilely and is left sticking its paws into a hole, maddeningly empty-handed. Point for gopher.

It goes on like this all day.

It makes for great discussion and lively activity around our little house. You can’t be in the kitchen and not look out the window and wonder what will happen next.

We’re all thinking it: when will the carnage begin?

I’m trying to do a little reconnaissance of my own.

I’m looking to start an underground resistance. Not a literal one because, as we know,the underground is occupied. I’m starting to strategize on how I can kill two birds with one stone.

I’m calling it Operation Fur Fly.

My objective is simple: end the drama of this cat and gopher game and finally plant the rest of my garden.

Sweet pickles that will bring me comfort in the dead of winter are depending on my plan of attack. So is the wanting-to-be-made strawberry jam.

And my spinach desperately needs back up.

My brave spinach.

The battle rages on.

I’ll keep you posted.

And the Plot Thickens...

The cat has got my tongue.

I’m not meaning to be glib, but it has.

I’m not apologizing or taking back what I have said about the cleverly disguised rodents called felines, but I will, hopefully in a few days hence, go so far as to say this:

Thank you, cat.

And that’s a great deal coming from me on this issue.

What has brought me to this point? Not a vision that has knocked me off my high horse, but a reality that is too strong to ignore.

I, once again, have been duped into thinking that the stray cats have had a penchant for my strawberries and spinach which lay in full sun.

If I had used my logic skills and connected the fact that they were here, lying in wait, even on rainy days, I may have deduced the following:

We have gophers.

Go ahead. Laugh it up. Diva needs redeeming once again!

Apparently, we have had a gopher living in our garden....right next to the spinach plants.

There is a neat little tunnel that suggests they are quite adept at excavation just like the nature books describe.

I was blind.

Not blind to the fact that cats are annoying. No, I am well aware of that fact. Some things you can’t paint over in life. This is one of them.

But I was blind to this existence of species descending from the RODENT family that has moved into our garden; as if we were members of a Beatrix Potter book and Peter Rabbit will be coming along any moment for tea.

They live in my garden!

But now, thanks to the cats: they live in terror.

I am willing, for the next few days, leastwise, to let the cats stay and kill and catch the intruders.

I figure it’s a more natural way of dealing with them than the age-old drowning method.

Plus, that particular method requires a bit more work than I am prepared to put forth at this moment in time. One must keep all manner of options available, but still use the course of action that requires others to work harder. (This is not a rule I live by in my life, but just a general observation).

The cats wrestle and try to catch the gopher. When they are successful and if, IF, they do not leave the remnants of the eaten carcass in my garden, then I will say thank you. But until that happens, the words remain on the tip of my tongue.

Out there remains my spinach.

My brave spinach.

The battle rages on.

I will keep you posted.

Shouting Out My Window is Becoming Quite Normal

The carnage continues and my yet my spinach battles on.

I believe they are convinced that they are spears that will eventually stab the underside of their attackers.

One can only hope.

It's a lazy lot of stray cats that I have in my yard.

Unwelcome and unwanted.

If they were writing a story about their lives it would be filled with scavenging, loneliness and a crazy lady who repeatedly opens her windows and shouts loud vernicular at them.

Away with you, dreaded beasts!

When I first wrote of their horrid existence, I shared with you my distaste for all things feline.

And then I wrote about how a new stray came to lay in the sun and lick body parts in a way that was less than modest and leave their evidence behind.

And our next adventure comes in the form of sopping rain, my other enemy to happiness this summer.

It’s shaping up to be a cold summer. The kind of summer where no one comes of age and all diary entries start and end with whining due to the inelegance of continual downpour.

And now we have cats.

Cats and rain. It’s raining cats and cats.

It’s all a vicious circle reminding me that a gardener must battle the elements if there is any hope to be organic.

They may have won the battle but I will win the war.

I need a new strategy.

I will keep you posted.

The Cat Came Back the Very Next Day

A second cat has join the massacre of my spinach.

I looked out my window and, behold, a new cat. It's the other local stray. It is sitting all plucky, like a hen laying eggs, on top of my spinach.

My brave spinach.

Worse, it has left offerings of the most gruesome kind.

Hair balls.

On the ground, the gobs of hair are lying next to my brave green soldiers, who try their best to rise to the sun above.

Blasted beasts.

Is there no end to the torture they inflict on my life?

How to rid them....how I ask, to no one in particular, and especially now since I’ve diasbled comments?

Blast!

Checking online for methods of trapping cats humanely and releasing them into the wild, wild bush far from my house. (I would never really do this. That you think I would shatters my soul. Really.)

There must be alternative methods of removal.

I need to talk to someone wise and all-knowing.

I need to talk to someone in town who knows how to get rid of unwanted animals.

Pest control, perhaps?

I’ll keep you posted.

The Current Cause of My Life's Problems

I don’t really have any REAL problems in life. Health, family relationships, sanity-they are all in good standing.

But the singular cause and disruption to my summer bliss and peace, besides the weather, comes in the form a detestable yellow and mangey white bulge.

A cat.

Loathsome creature.

It is the only thing that is bringing angry words up my throat like vomit that burns.

Guess how it has wreaked havoc in my quiet little life?

It has had the nerve--the nerve!--to sit (SIT!) on my growing spinach.

My tender spinach.

My brave spinach.

The spinach that has been one of the only surviving members from the Week-Long Storm That Killed My Garden. It’s not enough to lose my meager crop to the angry scourge of weather, now nature conspires against me some more in the form of its most DETESTABLE creature.

My eyes narrow when I see that beast.

I need a plan.

A plan to rid my garden of the vermin that could potentially ruin the final straw in a garden that is on the brink of extinction and utter desolation.

I’m not above hurling projectile objects, but one must save those tactics for a desperate last resort.(I would never hit it, just narrowly miss it, thank you very much!)

Right now, my current plan is running out and screaming like a banshee until it runs away. But this morning it moved slower, not truly convinced that I was protecting my spinach plants. I believe, it thought, that this was a game we were playing.

Cheeky beast.

I need to solve this immediately.

It’s not the kind of anxiety that keeps you tossing and turning at night, but it definitely ranks in the category of making my mornings unpleasant.

It’s right up there with neighbours who mow their lawns at 7 am.

Utter nonsense.

I let you know when the situation has resolved itself.

May your life’s problems be just as shallow.

And did I mention that I consumed a whole chocolate bar while this went on

Remember my post about how my husband is my North and without him I am a compass spinning out of control?

Well, let me tell you a little bit about what happens when my North goes away for the weekend and I spiral out of control. And I do mean S---P---I---R---A---L.

Jeep, my North, went away for the weekend. I said that already but let's lament that fact right now.

I don't do well without him.

Oh, I can survive and live and eat and all that. It's really just that I'm not so good at living without him.

Friday night I said, "Self, you are going to bed early tonight."

But when I got onto my bed, I looked at the lonely, empty spot that Jeep usually occupies...and I scooted over and settled on his side of the bed.

And then I saw my lonely side of the bed.

And I thought about how lonely it is to be in your bed without your husband. 

So I scooted to the middle and stared at the ceiling.

And then I called a friend and we talked for 30 minutes.

I hung up, committed to goto sleep.

But then my bed was very Jeep-less and so I called my sister-in-law  and we talked for 2 1/2 hours and to the point where I knew as soon as I hit "off" I would fall asleep.

Only that didn't happen. I laid awake missing my man.

It's hard to get to sleep without him.

It was past midnight when I fell asleep.

My son gets up at 6 am.

Last night, we housesat for a friend. 

I couldn't take the loneliness of the queen size bed and so I put my kids in it.

I took the couch. 

It only fits me so it works well and I don't have to miss who is supposed beside me.

So I visited with a friend until midnight and my eyes were blurry and I knew I would fall asleep the moment I flopped on the couch.

Only I stared at the ceiling.

So I turned on the tv.

Gilmore Girls was on. It was distracting...sorta.

It was an episode that I had watched with Jeep. We had both decided that even though Lorelai could deliver her lines super fast, man, she was selfish and we couldn't help but like her and want to slap her for being so self-absorbed.

So I missed Jeep.

And watched Superman for a while. What a cheesy movie.

Back to Gilmore Girls. But it was about Luke being loving and kind to Lorelai....the way Jeep is to me, even when I am very self-absorbed.

Then I stumbled on Jeep's and my favourite movie, About a Boy.

And I watched it. The whole time thinking that Jeep should be beside me and holding my hand or stroking my hair while we laughed at Hugh Grant's inner dialogue.

It was 4 am when it ended.

My son wakes at 6 am.

The couch was lumpy and I was certain I was going to have some sort of weird dream involving Clark Kent making snow for Lorelai Gilmore while Hugh Grant did a voiceover about all of it.

See?

I really do spin out of control without my North.

I am directionless.

Come home, baby.

I must be on fall number #8, 306

I need to climb down off my spiritual high horse.

Sometimes, I get really annoyed with my sisters and brothers in Christ. Sometimes I want to hit them in the head and yell, "What are you thinking?!!!!?

Here's the thing...

There are so many times when I am walking with a friend, journeying with them in Christ, and they stumble over a big log.

I want to get really mad at this stumble.

Why?

Because about 500 yards back when we were talking about this big log in the road, I encouraged them not to look at it. In fact, I flatly said, "You can't do this. You are setting your face towards sin and in turn saying that you love this log more than you love Christ."

And all the way along as we walk, they tell me about how they have tried everything to fix the situation with the log.

They have prayed, they have fasted, they have screamed at the log, they have said sorry to the log, they have run away from the log, they have thought bitterly about the log and how all it does is suck the joy out of their life.

They have, they assure me, done everything to avoid the log.

And yet, here we are...at the log, and they are about to bump into it and stumble.

I want to yell and scream at them.

I want to say, "You can't fix this by 'trying everything'. Trying everything is your whole problem. You can't fix this. You can't make the log go away. Only Christ in you has the power to overcome the log. Stop trying and just surrender already! You have to submit to His plan and the way He wants to fix it. Stop leaning on your own understanding."

I am so tempted to drag them from the log.

I have already warned and counselled about the log. I have prayed until I have no words, I only groan now. The Lord gets my groaning. He interprets it.

I want to rescue them from the log...

But then that makes me a hypocrite, doesn't it?

I think I need to have a little conversation with myself. One that goes like this:

You can't fix this by 'trying everything'. Trying everything is your problem. You can't fix this. You can't make the log go away. Only Christ in you has the power to overcome the log. Stop trying and just surrender already! You have to submit to His plan and the way He wants to fix it. Stop leaning on your own understanding."

I want the people in my life to love what God loves, and to hate what He hates. I want there to be a passionate intolerance for sin and a resolve like Shadrach's that says, "I know my God is able to save me but even if He does not I would never bow" to the alternative.

I can't fix this.

Only He can.

If I try, I will be as though I had a log in my own eye.

I stumble.

Often.

It might do me good to remember that, "a righteous man falls seven times, he rises again...."

I might want to be the hand that helps them rise again.

He is my North...

and without him I am a compass spinning out of control.