Lydia stumbled in, mumbling, “I want to go back to bed.”
Mom glanced up quickly. “I think you’ll be sorry if you do.”
I swallowed, willing my sore throat to open and close, and leaned against the stove as I began to crack an egg. “Why?” I asked, shaking my head. “I want to go back to bed, too.”
“Because you’ll be…um…hungry later?” Mom looked at both of us. Josiah was down all day yesterday, and Papa still lay in bed, wishing he didn’t have to go to work. “Okay,” she said, cheerfully. “Both of you can go back to bed. I’ll handle breakfast—if anyone even wants any.”
I crawled back into bed without even taking off my jeans and jacket, and didn’t wake up again until almost nine. Papa was leaning over us, asking how we felt. We spent the day like a household of sick puppies—excluding Mom, who never has time to be ill. She called her family tonight to share the news that we wouldn’t make it up for Thanksgiving dinner after all. What did I tell you? My prophetic gift is growing stronger every day.
I spent the rest of the day getting some R and R, which translated, means simply that I was lazy all day long. I wrote another rap piece, and after smugly listening to it over the sound system, played some of the music I have—and discovered it barely even resembles the “real stuff”. I haven’t decided yet if that’s a negative or a positive—mostly because I’m trying to keep a sunny outlook, and pretend it’ll work.
Intense labor finally yielded words to the piano piece I composed Saturday night. I’ve not decided if I’m satisfied with it, or not. It comes from the book of Job, and I know the chorus is right, but I’m not sure if I like the verses—if it really preaches what I had in mind. I shared it with Lauren over the phone just before supper. It was good to catch up with her again. She’s been feeling frustrated by all of the good, Christian kids seemingly straying—wondering what’s gone wrong and why are they being encouraged to express doubts without seeking answers. It’s hit her hard lately that the real issue is a misunderstanding about God. I couldn’t agree more.
Why do the rebellious remain alive
The wicked and sinful thrive
While I am broken?
And why do I languish all alone?
Aren’t you strong to save Your own?
But You have spoken.
My eyes are opened.
I close my mouth, for
You do whatever You please,
And nothing You plan can fall through.
Humbled, I fall to my knees;
May my prayer please You.
Why do my adversaries increase
When You promised You'd give peace?
I have tribulation.
And God, to obey, my only desire,
It is trust, not fire You require.
Through revelation
My eyes are opened.
I close my mouth, for
You do whatever You please,
And nothing You plan can fall through.
Humbled, I fall to my knees;
May my prayer please You.
Hear now, I’ll ask You
O God, instruct me.
I speak of things too wonderful for me.
But You do whatever You please,
And nothing You plan call fall through.
Humbled, I fall to my knees;
May my prayer please--please make my prayer please You.
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