Toilet Paper Tumult!

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Now that I think about it, it’s not about bathroom etiquette. No, I’m sure it’s not.

If it were about etiquette, I could think of ten things that might matter. These would be The Rules that would control inconsiderate behavior that disgusts the female brand of family member.

For instance, leaving two squares of toilet paper on the roll is just as bad as leaving an empty roll. It doesn’t count!  But, it’s not about that.  Picking up dirty underwear after a shower would be in there somewhere, but it’s not about that.

No, if it were about etiquette, I would be concentrating on all the times I have had to use the Braille method to navigate the bathroom during the night, only to find myself suddenly sitting directly into the bowl. Soggy and seething, I’d wake up in a hurry!

So, I’ve settled it – it’s not about etiquette.

What is it about? It’s a small thing, really. I just that I happen to think that the toilet paper roll should be installed a certain way.  There are no two ways about it!

It should absolutely come up over the top, toward the user, and be accessible by the handfuls when needed!   It only makes sense!

Why would anyone want it to roll toward the wall and hang there with only a small visible piece, teasingly available from underneath?   I certainly don’t want to have to fish around for it when, say for instance, I’m ….. Sneezing. That’s right, a sneeze!

Say I’m suddenly overtaken by a sneeze-attack. For me, the frequency of one of these fits may number more than six, seven or eight convulsions at any given time.   Since the Kleenex box always seems to be empty, it sends me rushing toward the TP roll.    Achoo!  Achoo! Achooooo!   Achoo- oo-oo-oo-oo!

My diaphragm permanently locks, and I forget to breathe!   Reelin’, rockin’ and rollin’ in the direction of the TP, I do me best to cover my outbursts with one hand, but my eyes squeeze shut with every gusty impulse!  Mind you, I’m still moving forward!

Tears gush down my face as the GPS in my head spins wildly! Since I cannot see, my other hand flails in vain, searching for an ample piece of tissue.   No such luck!

Fine! Sneeze session over, I look at the ground.  A hundred small bits of clawed tissue clutter the area.  My head pounds and eardrums throb. I stand there frustrated.  Honestly!   My knuckles hurt from contact with the wall and I feel like I suffered minor whiplash in the process!

And now? Now I have to clean up an elusive mess, not to mention wash my hands, arms and anything else I might have blasted in the process.

Ohhhhhhhhh….. if only someone had exercised a bit of common sense! Am I THE ONLY ONE with common sense in this family???

Absorbed. My thoughts get swiftly absorbed by a myriad of things. If only the  “people in this house” . . .    Well. I’ll leave it at that.

Why don’t they do better? I’m sure I’ve mentioned these “things” to them a million times!

They don’t care!   That’s it!  They just don’t care.  How selfish!  All I do is clean up after everyone else and they don’t even bother to show a little courtesy in the small things that matter to me!

Their rooms! The kitchen! The animals! Their chores!   Every little nit-picky notion of nuisance submerged my usually-happy demeanor.

Swamped with irritation, I was in a “mood!” Gotta  bre-e-e-e-athe.

Of course, this kind of brooding never produces the righteous life that God desires.

Inwardly, I heard,

“It’s not about the toilet paper, or common sense either…”

“No?” I thought to myself, “Then, what is it about?”

Again the small voice,

“…Giving place to the devil…”

Ouch!  My mental tirade was just as bad as if it had been done out loud!

One Pastor used to say that the devil doesn’t know what’s inside unless he jostles the cup and then he can see what spills out.   I had been jostled, big time!

My response? Oh yes . . . that.   Uh, Not so holy.

If the mind is a battlefield, I had just waged a mini-war with a surprise attack and wounded everyone I loved! Those were some harsh thoughts!  I wouldn’t want any of those things working themselves out into words people could actually hear!

Were some of those thoughts true? Sure they were.  Does my family slack here and there?  Of course, but it was the way I allowed the lies attached to the thoughts to overcome me.  They bloomed as I meditated on them.  They fed discontent and anger, and I had unwittingly tolerated it.

I’ve put myself in check since, and not much gets an over-reaction from me these days. I know my source and I run to Him at once. I refuse to be a servant to anyone but Him.

I still get sneezing fits now and again, and yes, I still want the toilet paper to roll conveniently for me. But, when it doesn’t, I’m able to keep my cool.

It’s only common sense when we are led by the Holy Spirit!

This post is shared at “Tell Me a True Story.”

 

Take My Smile

SAN

Take My Smile by Nancy Kehr 03/02/2011

 

Take my smile…

I can always find another

Anyway, yours seems lost

 

Joy will come

Each morning and forever

One Precious Life it cost

 

Take His comfort

You can’t find One better;

Cease from downcast heart

 

Exchange your life

For true Life, unfettered

God’s smile chases the dark!

 

Take my smile…

 

This post is linked with Tell Me a Story

This is Your Mission – Should You Choose to Accept it . . .

a-agent-secret

This is Your Mission – Should You Choose to Accept it . . .

Tonight I left the engine running. I wanted to be conspicuous.  I waited.   Then waited some more.  At times, exercising patience is just part of the job.

Another white truck entered the nearly-empty parking lot. My growling stomach reminded me that I had left in the middle of making dinner.  One consolation, though, was that every light had turned green, just for me as I drove, and I made it to the next town in record time!

Could that be my contact? A quick flash of my lights should do it!

Nothing. I shot a text to my contact.  She sent a text back.  It WAS her.

I got out and waved. A truck door opened and a woman with long dark hair emerged.  The freezing weather made me shiver, but she had on a sleeveless shirt.  I wondered where her coat was, but I knew better than to ask.

On the corner beneath a single street lamp, dimmed by the hazy cold of a winter’s night, the exchange was finally made. My eyes searching; her eyes were downcast.  Tears glistened on the corners of her eyes as I pressed the small envelope in her hand.   Still she was cautious.

“I want you to know I won’t mistreat this but I will use it wisely.” Her voice trailed.

~~                                               ~~                                                  ~~

It catches my attention. It won’t leave my thoughts!  Like a short commercial that loops round-and-round in my mind, something begins to take shape.

Sometimes certain things weigh on me so strongly, that I know without a doubt that God is alerting me to an assignment, a “mission” if you will.

Usually it happens when I am totally busy, engrossed in another task, or casually reading through e-mail or even Facebook. The alert might comer through a brief introduction, or even a wrong number calling my dental assisting school.

God’s not too picky who He uses. A merciful attitude and open, willing heart are pretty much all the requirements necessary.  Oh yes, and a willingness to be inconvenienced!

Inconvenience is not a condition acceptable to most people. It’s got to be convenient or they won’t sign on!

Sometimes these “missions” are totally “undercover. In fact, most of the time, they are undercover.

Not tonight however.

I was meeting her because of one little line in the newsfeed of Freecycle.

Her only request had been a “pair of used boots for her 14 year old daughter” whose boots had just fallen apart and she couldn’t afford to replace them.

I watched the news feed on and off all day. Usually people on Freecycle are very prompt but no one, I say no one, responded to hers. I felt bad.

That’s when I kept getting the feeling to respond. I knew it would take a few exchanges before she might trust the communication. And so it was.

When I offered to buy her teen some boots, she e-mailed back that she couldn’t let me do that. I probed a little and she admitted that she had a hard time receiving things from people.

Whereupon, I told her it wasn’t from me, but God wanted her teen to have a pair of shoes that would be totally her own and fit her own foot pattern.

My time as a third grade foster-child gave me a great appreciation for shoes that fit. Prior to that time my feet were stuffed into anything that looked like it might do.  The discomfort and damage I endured can hardly be expressed.   As I shared that with her, she began to open up.

We met at the local CVS to make the exchange. We swapped the money I brought and the clothes I had collected for her.

She volunteered that her husband had contracted colon cancer over 4 years ago. He was an RN and was getting his Masters in Theology.  She was the CEO of a big company.  Life was good, and they had the big house with lots of other creature comforts.

As he become more ill, quitting her job in order to care for him seemed the only option. Soon his kidneys failed and dialysis every other day became routine.  Her husband’s work cut him loose just as his insurance cancelled his coverage on a technicality.

One amputation was followed by another.   His body just wasn’t healing.  Finally the heart gave out.  Their world collapsed!  He was only 43 years old

Over the four years that the husband had been ill, they slowly lost everything. She and her daughter were now living in a one-bedroom apartment, scraping for an existence. . Additionally, they were helping to care for the woman’s mother.

She mentioned something fondly about her dad, so I asked if he was still with them. I felt horrible as she explained.  Her father had also become very ill, but decided to take care of things himself.  He took his own life and left her grieving mother in financial straights.

I had put my arm through her arm to hold her as she staggered under the constraint of this burden while she spoke.   Leading her to my vehicle, I held her and prayed.  There was nothing more to say except that, “God knows”.

She cried openly as I gave her money for boots and produced other things I managed to find in such short order. Then, when I pulled out the stuff I collected from others who responded to my Emergency Call on Facebook or via e-mail, she gasped.

Other things unfolded, and we will be meeting again.

Suffice it to say that God gave me a mission. Obviously it was meant for ME. No one else seemed to see or respond to her cry on the newsfeed.

For Eyes Only…. My eyes.

Holy Spirit knows.   He kept stirring my heart.

“Nancy, this is your mission.  Should you choose to accept it……”

The rest is history. Mission Possible!

 

This post is shared at “Tell Me a Story”