Jesus Hid My Glasses

Jesus hid my glasses.

Ok, maybe He did, and maybe He didn't, but they seem to have been raptured.  Or some such.

In all fairness to Jesus, I'm a disorganized mess, and I misplace things very often.  Just not my glasses.  I put my glasses on first thing in the morning, and I take them off last thing at night. 

My night, last, was especially early because I was lake tired.  (You know what I mean: the kind of tired you become only in summer, and only when you've been in sunshine and water all day.) 

I woke up especially early this morning, just as I did yesterday morning, because my talking scale said, the other day, that I weighed 199.8 pounds, and I decided that was as close to 200 as I was willing to get unpregnant, especially considering I'm still breastfeeding Baby Charleigh and there should be some kind of slenderizing perk to calorie-sharing, so I gave up regular Dr. Pepper, and I hate diet soda and won't drink much of it, so I've been waking up around 6 AM, hungry, with a headache from caffeine deprivation. 

Anyway.  I said all that to say: I went to bed, last night, after Clementine, and I woke up, this morning, before Clementine, so she can't be blamed for the rapture of my glasses.

I asked all 422 of my facebook friends to pray I'd find my glasses.  I can only surmise that they haven't prayed hard enough; Jesus doesn't listen to them; or Jesus thinks it best that my glasses remain missing for the time being.  I suspect the third option, and I'm about to tell you why.

I have five less piles in the main living area of my house.  This is a miracle of God.  Nothing short of my searching desperately for my glasses could have propelled me into such action.

Here's another cool, nearly unbelievable thing that happened today.  The babies were napping at the same time (Hey!  Wait!  That's a miracle, too!), and Cade asked: "What game are we gonna play today, Mama?"

And, look: I can't think where this idea might've come from other than God.  I told Cade: "Today, we're going to play Pilebusters."

"What's that?" he asked, and I proceeded to explain: we were going to disassemble piles and dust the negected surfaces beneath, all the while looking for my glasses.  "That doesn't sound like much fun," he said.

"Well, there's fifty cents a pile in it for you, Brother," I said.  His eyebrows shot up; he became agreeable, suddenly; and we proceeded to work together (joking and laughing the whole time) for something like two hours.

It was the best two dollars and fifty cents I've ever spent.  The mantle, the stovetop in the midst of my stone hearth, the magazine rack in my bathroom, my (huge) countertop, and my sink are entirely free of clutter.  And check this: when it was all said and done, Cade look at me out of his large, greenish-grayish eyes and remarked: "Pilebusters is kind of fun!"

Still no glasses.  I guess we'll have to keep pilebusting until we find them.

But not tomorrow.  Tomorrow, my helper and I are going back to the lake.  (I found an old pair of glasses, so I should be able to see well enough to drive.)

Now, look: I know there's nothing particularly pretty about this post (other than my son).  But I'm linking up with Emily, anyway, because her community appreciates stories like about how I'm loving summer for the first time in well over a decade; how I can't stay out of the lake even though the fish see my fat, white thighs and think: "Buffet!"; and how I'm dieting and pilebusting.  And there's more (much more!) I can't share in this forum (or at all), but the Lord is at work within my family and home, and He loves the imperfect, too.