Monthly Archives: September 2016

On procrastination, purpose and the miraculous healing of a printer

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A misty morning on our North Plum prairie in Central Kansas.

A misty morning on our North Plum prairie in Central Kansas.

Friday was Sandra’s “Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day” and I wanted to run away to Australia.

I won’t give you all the gory details because even if I changed the names to protect the innocent, most of the trouble was caused by that person I see every day in the mirror.
A large percentage of the remaining problems resulted from brokenness. No, I don’t mean that feeling when you realize you can’t make it on your own and would someone up there send some help already (although there may be a bushel of truth in that).

I mean stuff was broken. Broken oven, leaking shower head, a tear in a favorite shirt. And technology rebelled and refused to do my bidding. I was coming up against a deadline to get some important papers signed. How dare my laptop and printer conspire to revolt after I’d put off the task for so long!

Ah! There’s the rub! I procrastinate in many areas of my life, but I can be responsible in others. I can exercise self-control when it comes to paying bills, running several times a week or completing work assignments. On the flip side, I often delay cleaning chores, writing blog posts like this one or tackling difficult projects with indeterminate deadlines.

Why do some jobs get done with minimal will power and others seem to take monumental effort?

My easy-to-complete tasks all have a quick consequence if they don’t get done. I HATE paying late fees, my hyper-energetic dog pesters me to play (or shreds my socks) if she doesn’t get exercise and if I’m not meeting my work commitments, I’m forced into uncomfortable conversations with my boss (who is very understanding when real problems pop up).

The “to-dos” that are “not-dones” are more under my control. If I don’t clean the shower as often as I should, it really just impacts me and my hubby. I drag my feet in posting to my blog because I worry I don’t have anything interesting to say. I avoid big projects with unclear paths.

If I dig a little deeper, I know I procrastinate sometimes out of fear of failure.

Cleaning and organizing do not come easily to me. And I’m often in my daydream world where it’s easy to ignore the clutter and the dirt until it begins to spill out of the closets and attract wildlife. After weeks of neglect, I can spend 48 minutes scrubbing my shower and it still doesn’t look perfect. So why bother? Those are the times I need to remind myself that housework done imperfectly is better than housework not done at all. Spending 24 minutes or 12 minutes or 6 minutes is better than 0 minutes. Clean and de-clutter anyway.

As for the blog, almost every time I write a post, I feel a twinge of anxiety when I hit the button marked “Publish.” Creating makes us vulnerable. What if no one reads this? Or they think it’s a waste of time? What if I run out of things to say? Then I need to remind myself that connecting with others through writing is part of my primary purpose. Why did God give me this dream for my writing? So others will be encouraged. There will be times when my posts are dull. I must wrestle worry and pin it to the mat in the process. Write anyway.

Doubts can paralyze me or prompt me to pray and persevere.

When facing any complex project, I can take a small step forward instead of putting it off. Most of us veteran procrastinators know that just getting started is the hardest part. I say to myself, “progress, not perfection.”

That brings me back to my foul mood the other night, when technology kept me from completing an important part of a big project. I checked the printer, Googled the error message, tried moving the documents to a memory stick and putting that into the printer port. Nothing. I went to bed grumbling about all the broken stuff and all the undone tasks and tried to fall asleep haunted by regrets and recriminations.

When I got up the next morning, I knew I needed to sit down with my Bible, prayer journal and coffee to build positive momentum for my day. Seated in the big leather chair with my KTEH San Jose public television mug, I glimpsed out of the corner of my eye a stack of paper in the printer tray. After I’d gone stomping up the stairs, the problem had inexplicably resolved itself. Yes, there were five more copies of one paper than I needed, but I rejoiced. I could get the signature I needed and move forward.

God was reminding me of his goodness in the midst of all the brokenness (yes, the spiritual kind). Life is hard more often than it is easy. I need to look to the Lord to help me overcome challenges, especially the ones I create for myself.

One of the passages I read Saturday morning was this one:

“By his divine power, God has given us everything we need for living a godly life. We have received all of this by coming to know him, the one who called us to himself by means of his marvelous glory and excellence.” – 2 Peter 1:3

Thank you, Lord, for reminding me that the presence of hardship does not mean the absence or your presence.

 

 

An end is also a beginning

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Two weeks ago today Shawn and I dropped the last kid off at college, and I’m still in shock.

Where did those 18 years go, or the nearly two and a half decades of having kids under foot? The days crawled but the years raced.

We followed Anna’s battered blue Dakota up Highway 377 to the University of North Texas and sat in a traffic jam in the middle of orange construction barrels on Eagle Drive while hundreds of other families waited their turn to pull into the dorm parking lot. We got off the main drag a few blocks early and found spaces in a parking lot just one street over from her hall. Shawn, Anna, big sister Rachel (there at her sister’s insistent request), and I grabbed boxes and headed to her dorm.

A bit unsure and nervous, Anna took charge anyway and went to check in and get her key while the rest of us waited by the boxes on the steps out front. She came back breathless and triumphant, lanyard looped around her neck. Her room was on the fifth floor (aren’t they always?). The line for the elevators went out the door and down the block, so she led the charge to the nearest narrow stairwell.

Up, up, up we went, squeezing against the hand rail and orienting the box just right every time we passed students and parents on their way down the five flights. After several trips and copious amounts of sweating, we had most of what she brought in her room. Then there was moving furniture and the awkward task of making a lofted bed in tight quarters: layering on mattress protector, memory foam, pad, fitted sheet, flat sheet and her Grand Bette-made UNT green quilt. Anna may or may not have bumped her head on the acoustic tile ceiling. Rachel may or may not have made a trip hefting a heavy box from the parking lot up to the fifth floor before realizing she was in the “B” wing and would have to go back down to the ground floor and across the courtyard to the “A” wing and up another five flights.

Shawn and I pose with Anna, our UNT girl. Her room is only half way set up, but she was ready for us to go.

Shawn and I pose with Anna, our UNT girl. Her room is only half way set up, but she was ready for us to go.

We got a few of the boxes unpacked, then Anna declared lunch break. We went to one of her favorite restaurants, Chipotle, even though Kansas cattleman Shawn doesn’t like to go there because they get all their beef from Australia. On this momentous occasion, he went with zero complaints or snide comments.

Then we went across the street on a Target run for a power strip, fan, gluten-free snacks and other assorted items, angling our cart around the aisles crowded with back-to-school shoppers. Once we got back to her dorm room with a last load of supplies, Queen Anna said, “You can go now.” She wanted to finish setting up with her friend and roommate Ashley and without parental units and sister taking up valuable floor space.

And that was it. After so many years of dreading the moment, I felt numb. The 45-minute drive back to Keller was quiet but not somber. When we got home, we still had Rachel visiting for another ten days. Rebekah is dividing her time between taking a few classes at the University of Texas at Arlington and a part-time job at The Keller Pointe, so she is living at home. The empty nest is not empty yet. And that’s okay.

I teared up late that night when I looked out the front door for Anna’s pickup and remembered why I didn’t see it at the curb. But she’s been home twice in the last two weeks, and I saw her in Denton twice. It makes a difference having her so close. Taking Rachel to A&M and dropping Rebekah off at KU her freshman year were much harder.

Part of the reason I’ve not been more mopey is because two days after we dropped Anna off, my step dad (a UNT alumni and big fan of the Mean Green) lost his long battle with cancer. Known for his wry sense of humor, his affection for all things Denton, and his willingness to go out of his way to help someone in need, Bud will be missed by many friends and family members. His passing had me thinking of the bigger picture and spending more time with my mom.

Bud sitting behind the wheel of his beloved 1957 Chevy convertible.

Bud sitting behind the wheel of his beloved 1951 Chevy convertible.

The end of active-duty child-rearing can be the beginning of new adventures with a wider scope than just the folks under my roof. More time to explore near and far. More opportunities to grow in giving to others. More knowledge that each moment is precious. If you’re a mom or dad in this perilous place of transition, allow a little mourning for what is gone, then seek the “mores.”

Life is full of challenges and changes. Some we anticipate for years and others catch us by surprise as one season ends and a new one begins. But we can know this. God has everything under control and will use all of it for our good, if we’ll let Him.

“For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” – Ephesians 2:10

If we’re still drawing breath, God’s got good things planned for us to do.