someday if not already...

(via)

Someday you will tell God with a shake of your head: "I got nothin".

It will feel equally freeing and hopeless.

It will come after you've prayed, stopped praying and then picked it up again out of habit.

You'll have had faith, lost it and found that life is too depressing without it.

Your husband will still be without a job and everyone will ask you with expectancy and you'll try to look cute as you shrug your shoulders and smile and say "still waiting" and you'll change the subject because you have lost all sense of where you should go or what you should do or what you were waiting for in the first place or why on earth you and your husband wanted to work for a church to begin with since they all seem to be about saying no instead of oh wow brad and carrie you guys are great and we would love to have you work at our church.

Hypothetically. This might happen to you.

So that's why, someday if not already, you'll say to the dark... "I Got Nothin".

And you'll mean it.

Some of the poetic folk will say that now God can move and provide and give to you all that your heart desires. As if all that time before he was withholding because you were doing it wrong. Some days that will sound exciting. Other days you won't buy that view of God. But it's your choice.

The morning will come and you'll remember last night's declaration as you pour your coffee. You'll sigh and decide what kind of day it will be. A day where you trust and wait. Or a day where you disconnect and wait.

When this happens to you, call me and we'll get coffee. I'll buy.

getting a latte...

(via)

"I'll just pop in for a latte" I thought as I made the left instead of the normal right. 

I was, in fact, showered, clothed and off to work on time. Ya know. The kind of feat deserving of over priced coffee.

In line stood two girls. One wearing skinny jeans, combat boots and thick grey scrunchy socks. The other wearing a paper thin black shirt with a strategically placed black bra.  They carried on "conversation" while waiting to order their Starbucks and flipping through their Facebook apps.  They rocked the red lips and sunglasses indoors look.

"Carrie who are they?"

They are a species so intimidating it sets back even the most confident of women.  Their bible is Vogue and Mary Kate and Ashley are their god. If you're interested, they can be seen walking across Adams and Harbor in small fashionable packs wearing all black and yellow hair. They are the Paul Mitchell girls.

And I've always wanted to be one.

I thought about starting a conversation by pointing out that it was the girls of the 80's who invented the thick sock scrunch look, but decided against it.  Dare I open my mouth and they see how common I am.  And that I'm wearing a floral print.  I didn't even realize I was staring until one of them gave me a look.

It said, "What do you want old lady?" and "You need a make over" all at the same time.

I pressed my lips together forming a polite and eager smile.  Their's is a life so different than mine. One with sparkle and product and meloncholy black.  Maybe I could be their thirty one year old friend. Maybe they could show me the ways of the trendy. And in return I could teach them how to wear clothes you've had for 10 years. I was snapped out of my daydream when one of them began discussing how fat one of their classmates was getting.  My admiration became annoyance.  And then my annoyance quickly turned to rage.  Although I considered a wedgie like consequence due to her peeking tom thong, I chose dramatic and stern eye contact instead. 

And then the two of them ordered Venti Mocha frappacinos with whip cream and chocolate drizzle.  The same two who combined did not equal my current weight.  As I ordered my non fat latte I looked up to the rafters and said, "Why God?"

That's it.

gone to the birds...

My husband believes he can communicate with birds.

We have two hawks who live in our trees. Henry and Myrtle, affectionately. Upon hearing even the smallest peep from his buddies Brad first) gasps second) freezes third) makes a bird noise and fourth) runs to the closest window. Sometimes his adoring wife, muah, will be in the middle of a brilliant literary thought or profound revelation regarding zombies and he's like, outta there. Abandoned for the birds. But like a pigeon he always returns.

Last night we enjoyed the evening on our newly decorated patio. We dined on bar-b-q chicken, buttery corn on the cob and squishy sweet potato fries. The breeze came through the trees and it felt like an early summer eve. Henry and Myrtle greeted us on opposite branches. My husband made a noise similar to Jim Carrey's most annoying sound in the world as seen in Dumb and Dumber. And then Henry chirped back. They went on talking for a few minutes while I nibbled on my fries, reflecting on how normal these exchanges had become. But then Henry jumped on Myrtle's branch, and then jumped onto Myrtle, and then our bird children began to mate. With noises I hope to not hear again.

"Way to go Henry."

a dramatic post in which I discuss the world of accounting...

Where have I been you ask? Wait, you didn't ask? What kind of reader are you? Don't you take this thing seriously? We're fighting. But wait. Don't leave. With the upcoming resurrection of Jesus I have decided to forgive you. So we're good!

Friends, I have been in accounting.

Oh the tragedies!

It's a temporary move since someone went on family leave. They've brought in a temp to do my job. She is a nice lady, punctual and friendly and makes the coffee good and strong. But she is using MY phone, and MY Internet, and watching MY fox news all day. She caught on very quickly that she indeed had found the easiest job in America. MY JOB. I wasn't at all surprised by my bitterness.

The world of accounting is constant. New invoices to post, old invoices to file. My office mate is an adorable woman named Gerda. She has apple slices at 10am and Asian peanuts at 3pm. She makes noises like Oh and Ah when she uses her large Canon calculator. We listen to The Wave all day. She doesn't mind when I try to hit all the runs on 90's Mariah Carey songs. And try, do I.

In other news:

I watched both seasons of The Walking Dead and I crave more. I need more! I got zombies on my mind. I now think of survival strategies wherever I am in case I see a walker. And why on earth did they name that poor boy Carl?

We went to spring training where we watched glorious baseball and I attempted to wear a hat and glasses with sunglasses over my glasses. I also ate my first hot dog of the season and discovered my dad puts pepper on his fruit. Mark Trumbo signed my baseball and I swooned right there in front of my husband. So now he gets a freebie if he ever meets Reese Witherspoon.

The Good: Brad, his beard, our marriage.
The Bad: Unemployment.
The Ugly: The cruel harsh reality that I did not win the lottery.

Happy Easter! Let's sing praises and eat cadberry eggs.