DNS error: Do Not Scream!

I am afraid I'm becoming a technoblogger.  Never have I aspired to such a thing, but as one who is making my living at the mercy of technology, I'm finding it to be a fertile topic for blog posts.  (Actually, that's pretty appropriate since blogging is an inherently technological phenomenon!)

My goal for tonight was to get to bed before 11:00pm.  Preferably before 10pm, but I figured that might be tough.  Surely 11 was doable.  My kids were exhausted, so they went to bed at 6:40pm.  (Who wants to lay bets that my son will be up at 5am??) 

I had only two work-related tasks: one article to write on Ann Stamp, Monsanto's 2016 Farm Mom of the Northeast, and this blog.  Not too tough.  Three and a half hours tops. 

Right. 

I started writing my article and wanted to fact check something.  No big deal.  Google will solve that for me in 5 seconds.  Except, Google didn't like me anymore.  When I clicked open my trusty Firefox, nothing happened.  No home page.  Just a disturbing little blue line running round and round in circles in my browser.  Oh no. 

I'd had problems with my wireless router not working with my laptop this weekend, so I turned to my trusty Samsung smartphone.  Dumb phone.  No internet action there, either.  This is not good.  This article needs to be in by tomorrow to make the next issue.  (My life is carefully scheduled these days . . . there is no room for error . . . or temperamental internet service!) 

So I unplugged my router and my modem.  I waited 30 seconds.  I plugged them back in.  I waited for them to reboot, or cycle, or whatever you call it when they try to decide to work again.  Still nothing. 

I almost called the internet company then and there, but I didn't have time.  I figured I'd write the article and hope the internet magically resolved itself so I could fact check later.  So I did.  Only it didn't.  This also is a problem, as I could not email a proof to the subject as I'd been asked to do.  I also could not email my editor letting her know the story was in the mail, so to speak. 

So I began to do something very strange.  I searched online for a solution. 

What??

Oh yes, I could do that.  The internet would call up the search engine results, it just wouldn't load most of the pages.  It would load my country radio station, but not the Monsanto award site.  (Please don't ask me why.  Again, if I knew these things, I'd be making a million dollars fixing other people's technological nightmares.) 

I was able to find a page (and load it!) that informed me I was experiencing a DNS error.  The URL I entered in the browser was apparently not getting converted to an identifiable IP address.  In short, my computer was putting a request for a website, but the internet was unable to translate the request properly.  (At least, I think that's what it means.  Close enough for an English major, anyway!) 

So I did the recommendations and got . . . nowhere.  Blah. 

That's okay.  I still had to select photos from my camera, download them to a disk (because I save them all for posterity and have a zillion rewritable disks in my house), and write captions.  I can do that. 

No I can't.  My computer and my camera don't want to talk, either.  I could see the photos, but they wouldn't copy.  (And I lost two in the process, which made me very unhappy because one I really liked!  At least it wasn't the cover shot I liked . . . !) 

Then I get them to copy, only my disk didn't have enough space for the photos.  Grrrrr.  I get a new disk, wait for it to format, and try again.  Eventually I have success. 

I select photos.  I write captions.  I check the internet once more out of plain old desperate stubbornness . . . and it worked!  Phone, laptop, all have access!  The test email I tried to send my sister 4 hours ago goes through.  My phone starts be-bopping as backed-up emails flow in. 

I am amazed.  I am too tired to rejoice.  I work fast, fearing the miracle will be like Cinderella's night at the ball, over at quickly-approaching midnight.  (I, for one, can keep track of the time!)  I send Ann an email, not expecting to hear back until tomorrow. 

Ahh, but this was also not as easy as one would expect.  My Dell has a miserable little pop-up telling me it is updated.  I can't get it to go away.  It is perched over my email.  I can't move the email around.  I can't see what I'm typing.  I think I got the message right . . . ! 

(I don't understand why Dell thinks I need to have constant awareness of the fact that my system is up to date, the last scan was on 5/8/16 and the next scan is scheduled for 5/11/16.  Who cares?  The bloody internet hasn't worked for nearly 4 hours . . . what good is your little update doing me, anyway?!?  Fortunately, "Aziz" had the same issue and wrote a very detailed fix.  I did that.  However, it needs a restart to activate the changes, and let me tell you I am NOT turning this beast off until I am finished for the night!  Knowing my luck, it will never start again!) 

I write an email to my editor explaining that the article will arrive tomorrow when . . . ding! 

It's Ann!  (Are there any mothers out there who actually sleep???  How are we ruling the world on fewer hours of sleep than I have fingers on one hand?)

I delete my unsent email to my editor, thank Ann for being so prompt, send a new email to my editor telling her everything's in Dropbox, and sigh with relief. 

Another job completed, both with and in spite of this mysterious, cursed-gift of technology.  

In Everything Give Thanks

It's easy to look at the things that are not the way we want them and to get discouraged.  Perhaps your trigger is politics or violence in entertainment or people who text while driving and float from lane to lane.

As I sit here, there are many things I am tempted to "humorously" address: fatigue, overwork, divorce, children who insist upon touching things they know they ought not to touch.  And yet, I feel the need to give thanks.

I am thankful to God for His grace and mercy and love that flow so abundantly, even when I deserve them the least.

I am thankful for my two little sets of grasping fingers, for the way they pat my cheek and hug my neck and make the motions to our new VBS songs.

I am thankful for the "moms" in my life.  My mother has put up with so much from me . . . and still does . . . and gives to me so plentifully so much of the time.  My mother-in-law, who calls my kids each week and hosts pajama party sleepovers and brought Chinese food for lunch today and just visited.  For the many spiritual "moms" in my life, some of whom are my own age and shared living space with me throughout my Wheaton years.  My life is so rich because of you all.

I am thankful for two hairy, shedding dogs who crowd on the couch with me . . . and who eat my kids' crumbs sometimes before they hit the floor.  (I really cannot imagine raising two children without canine vacuums . . . I don't even want to!)

I am thankful for all the work I have to do, as tiring as it is, because it will enable me to keep my kids in their home when the rest of their lives are a bit topsy-turvy.

I am even thankful for my ex who is giving me one final Mother's Day gift by cleaning up and removing the enormous turtle tank from our living room.  (Productive office space, here I come!)

I am thankful for my church family and my blood family and the beautiful and unique ways they minister to me.

I am also thankful for technology.  It can be a nightmare (like this afternoon when I purposely loaded work into Dropbox so I could work on the tablet while my kids watched Secretariat only to find out that Publisher has no free apps so I downloaded the trial version only to find I also needed to upgrade my operating system whereupon I cursed Microsoft for choosing to provide apps for all their programs except the one I needed at the moment and vowed to write a scathing blog about it) . . .  

Oops.  Thankfulness.  Right.

I could actually go on with this for a while longer, but I am super thankful that my bed is already made and waiting for me, and I can't keep it waiting any longer.  (Unlike last night--this morning, rather--at 2am when I finally went into my room only to remember I'd washed the sheets and forgotten to make the bed . . . at least I'd remembered to dry them!)

I'd love to hear what you are thankful for . . .

(Okay, so I'm thankful for Petra, too!)

A Day in the Life . . .

Here is a glimpse into a typical day in the life of the Castrataros. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed living it.  (Really . . . I laughed a lot today . . . I was SuperMom today!) 

6:30 am 

The kids awaken me.  (Note: This constitutes "sleeping in.")  I stumble into the bathroom only to find that one of the dogs had messed in the bathroom.  A lot.  Blackness.  At least it didn't smell.  I throw the dogs out and clean up the bathroom. 

6:45 am

I get my daughter out of her crib.  Before letting the dogs in, I notice Nyssa was the one who left her gift in the bathroom and she has some on her feathery legs and tail.  I grab the scissors and give her a haircut at the front step.  I wash the scissors and my hands.  

7:00 am

I'm trying to make coffee and determine what the kids want for breakfast.  My son rejects my 18 options in favor of the one thing I don't have.  I finally sell them both on egg sandwiches on English muffins (with cheese and bacon....yum!!!)  

7:15 am

The ex comes in from the barn and greets the kids.  Daughter runs around screaming like a banshee in delight.  He says something to the effect of "crazy morning," and I respond, "Every morning's crazy."  I find aphids on my new Angel vine--THAT explains the dead ends and general malaise of a plant that has been more carefully monitored than any I've ever owned.  I spray her with soap, trim her up, and feed her (per my ex's instructions).  She already looks happier.  I think.  I hope. 

 7:30 am

Ex leaves.  Kids eat, sort of.  They eat their muffins and pick the cheese off the eggs.  Leave the eggs on the plate.  (Query: Why is it that my daughter devours omelets and won't eat fried egg sandwiches which are the exact same thing with the added plus of carbs?)

7:45 am

Cleaning up breakfast, I notice disgusting wetness in my son's booster seat.  Yup.  Peed in it.  He's potty trained.  I swear.  He was also still wearing a Pull Up from overnight.  You try to figure it out.  I bleach the seat.  The kids do some artwork.  My daughter gets glitter everywhere.  I clean it up. 

8:15 am

Time to dress the kids.  Well, my son.  My daughter (the 2-year old) comes out wearing a striped shirt and a plaid skirt that somehow manage to look coordinated in an edgy non-traditional sort of way.  Without a Pull Up.  It takes five minutes of scuffling to make her understand that yes, she can wear the skirt and yes, she must also wear the Pull Up.  

I go in the bedroom to help the 4-year old and step in wetness on the bedroom carpet.  Yup.  The dog.  My son informs me he watched her do it earlier this morning.  Didn't think telling Mommy was necessary.  Out comes the Carbona 2-in-1 with the nifty applicator (an AMAZING invention, by the way).   I finally get my son dressed. 

8:45 am

Today was supposed to have been a pajama day, as it was the only day this week with nowhere to go.  But since we were all dressed anyway, I decide we should do some singing and dancing . . . while working.  So I put on the motion videos for the VBS I'm directing, and we all sing along with Yancy.  (My son is SO into these songs!  I'm so excited!)  It was very fun! 

9:15 am

My pastor's wife--dear woman!--stops by with goat's milk, eggs, and dinner.  (I feel a little guilty taking the generosity, but I have to say the pampering is like a balm on a deep and painful place inside . . . and I am so grateful to her.)  I do dishes and laundry. 

10:00 am

The incredible Secretary/Treasurer of the RI Ag Council stops by with items for Ag Day at the State House next Tuesday.  My son runs in wearing only a shirt and his Pull Up.  I no longer care where his pants are. 

10:30 am

My children are so tired and cranky that it defies description.  I put them to bed for a morning nap knowing my daughter will sleep, my son will not, and I will miss out on the afternoon collapse I had been looking forward to.  

I email my editor with story ideas, email a couple farmers about interviews, book one, call my mom to try to figure out childcare for next week which already requires three days of "working" on my part.  (I'd like to know what exactly I'm doing all day every day if not "working," but that's another blog altogether!)  

11:30 am

My son, who didn't nap, gets out of bed and wants lunch.  I make him and me roast beef wraps.  We drink goat's milk . . . with a little Ovaltine for kicks.  I clean up lunch. 

12:15 pm

I am in the kitchen.  I hear a crash in the living room.  Wailing.  This is not good.  My son is on the floor holding his face.  His brand-new glasses, 26.5 hours old, are on the floor with one arm broken off.  I hold him and examine his cut eye, swollen nose . . .all else seems fine. 

What happened?  I didn't even have to ask.  He'd been doing headstands and flips on the couch all day.  I had been scolding all day saying, "Stop doing that!  You're going to get hurt!"  Mother knows best.  I text the ex and tell him about the glasses.  NO EPOXY this time.  (Dr. Waterman cautioned me against doing that ever again!)  Fortunately, I had wisely kept the formerly-Epoxied pair as a spare . . . I didn't expect to need them quite so soon.  

1:00 pm

My daughter wakes up and wants lunch.  I make her a roast beef wrap . . . and goat's milk with Ovaltine.  She eats the lettuce, 1/4 of the wrap, and some roast beef . . . she says.  I continue doing laundry. 

1:30 pm

There's a break in the never-ending rain--are we living in England or Oregon or something?  What is this gloomy, cold, wet miserableness????  I pack up the kids and we go next door to give our neighbor their mail that had been left in our mailbox 2 days ago.  Our "we can't stay long" lasts about 2 hours.  The kids are happy, though; they get to watch Curious George and The Cat in the Hat.  

3:30 pm

There's another short break in the weather.  The kids run around while I pull Norway maple seedlings out of my garden.  My other neighbor, who I have not seen in days due to my crazy schedule, comes to the fence.  We chat. 

4:30 pm

The rain begins again.  Wet kids, wet dogs, and wet Mommy get into the house.  I heat up delicious supper from wonderful wife of the pastor.  We eat.  The kids clean up their toys.  I help them into pj's.  They brush their teeth and feed the dogs.  I do more laundry.

6:00 pm

We three snuggle on the couch and watch New Friends for Thomas.  

7:00 pm

I read the kids their Bible story, we pray, and sing, and I tuck them in.  I put off "working" to write this blog.  

8:00 pm

I finish my blog and begin working on the display for Ag Day that needs to get printed before next Tuesday.  Oh yeah, and the brochures, too.  Oh, and posting my post on social media, and ...

Attitude is Everything

It started out as one of those days.  You know the kind.  You get to bed late, you're exhausted, you're in the middle of a deep, delicious dream, and you are awakened far too early by your son crying out in terror.  At least that's how it was for me this morning. 

My poor kids have been fighting off a stubborn cold for a week now, and they're both wiped out from the hectic schedule we've been keeping as Mama tries to figure out how to simultaneously pay the bills, improve her mental health, protect the kids' mental health, spend time with her extended family, and manage her own housework. 

The result is there have been too many days in a row of eating junk food on the way to or from one event or another, too many hours with an aunt or a grandmother, and far too few hours hanging at home with a calm, relaxed, fun mom. 

So when I go in to my son and all he wants is to lay his head in my lap saying stuffily, "I can't breathe, Mommy," my heart crumbles.  All I want is to give him a nice, leisurely day at home, but I know that isn't possible.  We had miles to go before we would get to sleep again. 

Our first appointment of the day is with our wonderful optometrist, Dr. Waterman.  My son's new glasses had arrived (to replace his old ones which are held together with Epoxy after having both arms ripped off and the frame broken while "boxing" with our neighbor) and it is time to fit them.  Dr. Waterman is his congenial self.  My children are delighted with his antics.  I am grumpy from too little sleep and too much to do. 

After the visit, the kids are hungry, and I want caffeine, so we stop at Starbucks for a venti mocha latte, a cheese danish (why can't I lose weight???), and a banana nut bread (for the kids). 

It's decision time.  Which of my tasks do we do before heading to my mother's house?  Groceries?  That seems silly.  I had come north to the optometrist.  If I go shopping, I'd head back south to put them away only to turn right around and head north past the optometrist to my parents'. 

Too much gas. 

Too much backtracking.  (I don't like backtracking.  Ever.  For anything.) 

I decide to drive around central Rhode Island leaving Scavenger Hunt brochures at libraries that I hadn't reached earlier in the week.  Then I had been alone.  Now I have two kids with me, and we'll be exceeding my personal 3-stop limit. 

Deep breath. 

Inspiration strikes.  In my best "Boy, kids, have I got something fun and exciting for you!" voice I say, "Guess what? We're going on a library scavenger hunt!"

My kids have no idea what a scavenger hunt is.  They are very fond of our library, however, and even fonder of meeting new people, so this sounds good to them.  I pour over my map (yes, the paper kind . . . I don't want to waste my precious data allotment on automated directions!), decide where we're going, and head out. 

Along the way I tell the kids, neither of whom can read yet, what streets we're looking for, what direction we'll be going, and all sorts of intriguing navigational information.  After successfully finding the first stop, my kids decide they need brochures.  The brochures open up and contain, of all things, a map! 

Then my four-year old son starts back seat driving.  Literally.  "Mom," he tells me pointing at his map, "here's where we need to go.  Ten.  Right here.  There's a church on the corner." 

For those of you who don't know Rhode Island, we certainly do have a Route 10.  It does indeed feature prominently on the RI Farm Scavenger Hunt map.  It is, however, nowhere near the junction of Route 2 and Cowesett Avenue, which we are in search of. 

Just then, however, I see Cowesett Avenue.  As we're on top of it.  We pass it.  I say, "Oh, dear!  We passed Cowesett.  No problem, we'll turn around."  I not only sound cheerful; I feel cheerful. 

Now from the back I hear hysterical laughter and, "Mom, good thing you didn't lose Cowesett!"  I have no idea why the thought of losing Cowesett is so funny, but suddenly all three of us are giggling like goons and yelling about Cowesett being lost. 

By the time our jaunt is over, we have stopped at four different libraries.  Counting the optometrist, that was five in the car, out of the cars . . . unprecedented for me.  I am happy.  The kids are happy.  It was one of the best times we've had in a while. 

There are many times in my life when I feel like the dog being wagged by the tail of my emotions, as if I'm being driven by things I should have control over but don't.  Today was almost such a day.  It all changed with one moment of determination . . . and a bit of pretense. 

That and two lovely children who were just as in need of a good day as their mom . . . and whose exuberance transformed pretense into reality. 

Get Googling

Two weeks ago today I would have been considered a luddite.  My phone was of the flip variety.  Every text I sent or received cost me extra money.  My calendars were all made out of trees.  I had to wait for my computer to boot up to check or send an email.  I had no idea there were imojis with angry cat masks, devil masks, and people wearing surgical masks.

But now . . . oh, my world is a different place.  I have a fancy schmancy Samsung smartphone with an honest-to-goodness data plan and a slick Samsung tablet that syncs with it.  My sister and I text ALL the time.  I have become so addicted to imojis that I was responding to something on my phone, got irritated that I couldn't find the imoji I wanted . . .or any imojis at all! . . . and then realized of course I didn't have imojis: I was emailing! 

Google  has taken over my life.  Really.  I have a Google+ profile, which I didn't want, but needed in order to host this blog.  (It is only fair to say, however, that had Google+ been the big thing before Facebook, I would have done Google+ instead.  I like the look and feel of Google+ a ton . . . but honestly, I'm managing 2 Facebook accounts, 2 email accounts, a LinkedIn account, and a blog.  How much social media can one person handle?!

My two Gmail accounts ping my phone every time a new message comes in.  Storm Songs is hosted by Google's Blogger.  I share documents on Google Docs.  Then there's YouTube . . . we all know that if you can't find it on YouTube it's just not worth finding! 

I tried using the mobile Google maps to plot the best paths to libraries (so I could drop off RI Farm Scavenger Hunt brochures), but that one didn't work so well.  (Sorry, Google!  Maybe you should make it easier to add multiple locations and print from my phone . . . !)

Maybe my favorite thing, though, is my Google Calendar.  I've used shared calendars before (in my former life when I was carrying one of the first generation cell phones with email capability for work), and they were bears to set up and sync.  Not so with Google!  When I first entered an event via my desktop and it was immediately available on both my phone and tablet with no manual syncing or programming of any kind . . . WOW!  The emails were easy, too . . . no call to tech support required!

I freely admit that my technology makes many aspects of my new life and work easier and more efficient.  Last week I was visiting my sister when my phone alerted me to a new email.  It was my editor informing me that she was missing 2/3 of the article and photos I'd emailed to her because her email server couldn't handle the size of the attachments I'd sent.

First I panicked.  (Deadlines are deadlines in the newspaper business!)  Then I remembered.  I'd emailed the files.  It didn't matter that I'd used my home computer.  I'd used a Gmail account.  So I found the email, copied the attachments, and slipped them into a DropBox folder . . . all with my tablet.  I could just as easily have done it with my phone.

Another plus is that my calendar is always with me.  Unlike before, I don't have to keep track of purse, calendar, phone, and pen.  In fact, if I ever progress to the mobile pay apps, my wallet could become a thing of the past.  (Who needs a laminated driver's license--store it on your phone!)

Today I was waiting outside to put my niece on the bus when my phone rang.  It was a grower I want to interview for an article.  I was using my headset, so both hands were free to open the calendar on my phone and schedule a time without running in the house to find my planner, missing the bus, or having to call her back at another time.  Very efficient.

As much as I love my gadgets, they do have their drawbacks.  The biggest one is that I find it hard to ignore the pings, so I can easily become a person who reaches for the phone every two seconds.  My solution, at home anyway, is to try to only check the phone at the top of every hour.  (Calls I take . . . unless I'm reading The Horse and His Boy by C. S. Lewis to the kids . . . priorities, you know!)

For the most part, however, I am finding that these non-necessities are making it easier than ever to run a non-traditional business from home . . . or your sister's . . . or the eye doctor's.  And that makes it possible for me to be with my kids much more than if I were working a 9 to 5 for someone else.

Three cheers for Google! 

Songs, Skits, and Spiritual Growth

I have a confession.  I'm a Vacation Bible School junkie.  My mom brought me to Vacation Bible School every summer for as long as I can remember.  When I got older, I acted in the opening skits, I taught the younger kids, and one year I taught the teens.  (That was the year I was playing volleyball at rec time and split open the stitches in my arm when I bumped a return!)

This year I'm taking VBS to a whole new level . . . or perhaps it's the other way around!  For the first time I'm going to be the director.  The head honcho.  The buck stops here figure.

In comparison to some of the other roles I've had to play, this does not seem to be a "big deal."  But it is.  I feel an enormous amount of responsibility . . . and a great deal of humility . . . facing this task.  I think much of this has to do with my VBS Director role model, my friend Rhoda.  (You met her in my post Of Jesus, Gems, and Double Chocolate Cookies.)

Rhoda was the quintessential VBS Director.  For one thing, she was the most organized director I ever worked under.  She ordered the Director's Kit six months before VBS.  At the first planning meeting she had the materials all laid out, a schedule solidified, and roles for everyone.  I always felt as if she were 10 steps ahead of everyone else.  If she ever got caught by surprise, I never knew it.

Above all, Rhoda prayed.  And I am convinced her praying, above and beyond her managerial and organizational talents, was responsible for so many years of successful VBSes.  (How do you pluralize VBS?!)

 So it is that as I have begun preparing for this task, I feel like an ancient disciple following his rabbi, straining to step in his exact footsteps and deliver a mirror image of his teacher.  I meticulously planned for the first meeting (although not quite meticulously enough judging from the misprints in my draft schedule . . . !).

I set up the on-line registration (which you can view at www.vacationbibleschool.com/NSBC2016), have written press releases, and have begun teaching my children the songs and hand motions.  (You can never start too soon preparing your youngsters for a lifetime of VBS fun!)

I am pretty confident of my ability to meet deadlines, wrangle volunteers, recruit attendees, and certainly run an efficient schedule.  I've done all this in different settings more times than I can count.

What worries me is the prayer.  I'm not a prayer warrior.  I should be.  I want to be.  The truth is, I've always been too darn lazy about getting on my knees and praying.  (Reference yesterday's post for more on that issue!)

This is not to say I don't pray.  I have become very adept at what I term SOS prayer: Dear Lord, please grant me patience as my daughter climbs on the arm of the chair for the fourth time in as many minutes.

Lord, have mercy as my son accidentally hits me with a plastic ukulele because he's swinging it around in circles just for the apparent joy of swinging in circles.

There is nothing wrong with SOS prayers.  In fact, I would argue that an intimate walk with the Lord is marked by SOS prayers, by the constant, fervent, half-formed prayers that emerge from complete dependence on God's strength and grace.

SOS prayers are not enough, however.  The mature Christian should be a person of PRAYER, focused, intentional intercessory prayer.  The kind of prayer exemplified by Jesus's habit of going to the hills to pray, the kind of intense, heart-wrenching prayer for himself and his people in Gethsemane.

That is where I'm lacking.  A perfect storm of personality, preoccupation, and misplaced priorities has prevented me from truly pursuing, practicing prayer.  For myself, for my children, for my ex, for my missionary friends, for my persecuted brothers and sisters around the world, for all the little irritations and overwhelming challenges of daily living I should be praying.

I can't honestly say I expect to turn into a Camel-knees Christian, one who spends hours a day in uninterrupted prayer.  But at this point, dedicating 5 or 10 consecutive minutes to prayer would be an improvement.

How about you?  Is this an area of strength for you, or one in which you struggle (like me!)?  Tonight I will pray for you.  I ask that you do the same for me.

God bless you!

Knuckle Down, Buckle Down, Do It! Do It! Do It!

I am a procrastinator.  In my inner soul, my motto runs something like this: Why do today what you can put off until next year? 

Tonight is a prime example.  I started a project almost a year ago and, for reasons of pure dislike for the topic, have found myself unable to complete it.  This is not to say I didn't want to do it; I did.  Well, I wanted to have it done.  I guess it's not quite the same thing!

At any rate, it kept nagging me, loitering around the back of my mind, popping up at the most inconvenient times merely to attest that I was, indeed, the laziest person in the world. 

So tonight I bit the bullet and did the project.  The funny thing is that it wasn't nearly as horrible as it had been a year ago when I tried completing it the first time.  (I really did . . . I swear!) 

So what changed?

Well, it sure wasn't the topic.  Or the writer.  Or the motivations.

The only thing that changed was my determination.  This morning I swore that I would wrap that up tonight and get it out of my life or die trying.  (Yes . . . I really am that dramatic in my inner diaglogues!)  So even though I had a lovely long chat with my mom tonight and got started an hour or so later than I planned, I hammered at it until I got it done.

And you know what?  It feels great!  No more albatross hovering overhead; no more raven mocking, "Never done!  Never done!"

And it made me think of some of the other things that I just "can't" get myself to do, when maybe all I need is an extra kick in the butt.  I'm thinking of things like:

"Run with perseverance the race marked out for you."
"Set your mind on things above, not on earthly things."
"Be still and know that I am God."
"Rejoice in the Lord."
"In everything give thanks." 
"Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you."

Please do not misunderstand me.  I firmly believe, and only become more convinced the more I understand my own nature, that our sanctification comes through the work of Christ and not our works.  However, I also know that God expects us to cooperate with the Holy Spirit by doing our part, even if that part consists solely in praying for the strength to do our part.

Years ago I read an article in a Reader's Digest collection.  I can't remember the title or the author, but I have always remembered this one line, "Today do one thing for no other reason than you don't want to do it."  His premise was that making a habit of doing unpleasant things created spirits with the resilience and determination to tackle the truly great challenges when they came along. 

I think he's right.  I wish I had taken his advice on this issue last year.  All the same, I'm glad I did it today.  I wonder what I will find to do tomorrow?

(By the way, I've included this song because it is so fun--I'm a big Roger Miller fan!--and because my kids and I use this to motivate us to pick up toys before bedtime . . . try it!)