Sometimes I think I should pinch myself to make sure I'm living in the real world. While there have been times I've had to stop and think before jotting down that for which I am thankful, more often than not, it's a matter of narrowing the field down. Tonight I'm just going to recount the blessings of this day; at least the ones I remember.
Tuesdays are my days with Willie and Cameron. Breakfast and stimulating conversation followed by Starbucks and more conversation that challenges and blesses me. Week after week I have this privilege, always on the heels of our Monday night men's Bible study where we encourage one another to live faithfully and boldly for Christ. Today after leaving Starbucks, I had a couple errands to run, one of which was picking up some English muffins at the day old bakery. I pulled in on a whim, called Linda to see if we actually needed anything, and while I was on the phone, an older gentleman backed out of his spot, slowly drove behind my bike, stopped, and got out. When I finished talking to Linda, he started in. He was one of those few who knew what kind of bike it is, its history, its quirks. Turns out, he used to race motorcycles on dirt tracks back in the '60's, owned a bike shop, drove a BMW for years. We talked for about fifteen minutes, another one of those encounters known to Uralistas as "UDF," Ural Delay Factor. Any errand that should take ten minutes; plan on at least fifteen for the conversations you get into because of these bikes. By the way, this gentleman was the third of the day.
I stopped by a storage facility on the way home. The owner has a zero-turn lawn mower sitting chained to a telephone pole in front of his facility. He's selling it to settle an unpaid storage bill. I talked to him last week, but he wasn't willing to come down to what I'm willing to pay. I figured if I came to him with cash in hand, he might break, but he wasn't in when I stopped by. There was a time when things not working out according to my plan would have thrown me for a loop, but today, I figure if I can talk with him, fine. If not, I'm OK. My well-being ins't dependent on a lawn mower. It's taken me awhile, but one of the blessings about knowing Christ is knowing God is in control, so if things don't happen just the way I think they should, I'm OK with it. That's BIG!
One of my stops was to get some paint stripper to take care of the graffiti on the bridge at the end of our property. When I got home, it was all painted over. I had called the village DPW yesterday, without response. Linda called our friend in the village office (we are living in her childhood home), and evidence has it that Darla apparently has a bit more clout than do I. I am grateful to live in a village where such things matter to the people who make things happen, and where we know the right people on a first name basis. I happened to be wearing my "I Love Sinclairville" shirt, but it's true; I love this place. If you're looking for a good place to live, this is it. Great people!
I waterproofed the concrete in our fish pond, had a short meeting with pastor Joe and a representative from Keryx prison ministries followed by dinner with my wife, after which she had a meeting to attend, and I had our daughter Jessie's three kids for the evening. Gemma bounced on the trampoline, we hiked around the property, then headed inside to tackle some science experiments. We made tin can telephones (they didn't work as well as I remember them working when I was a kid), made frost appear on a tin can, formed a cloud in a jar, then finished it up with mixing up the makings for hard rock candy.
When everyone went home and Linda had gone upstairs to bed, I opened an email from the bassoon professor at Fredonia state. I had written her to ask if she would keep her eyes open for an instrument on my behalf. She remembered our meeting a couple years ago, and graciously agreed to do so. So many good experiences with so many good people who by their kindness are making this otherwise sad world a better place. After a day like this, how can I not feel blessed?
No comments:
Post a Comment