Talking to Myself

It’s either this or talk to myself, and I already know what I’m thinking.

That from Julia Scotti, a comedian on America’s Got Talent.

I like it.

I’m missing my dad so much today. He always ENCOURAGED me.  There's a hole in my heart left by my dad. I know he’s with me in so many ways, I am remembering his encouragement, his you-can-do-it and his proud smile when I conquered something.

I conquered the kitchen floor. I gave up hope of new and patched and refinished the old. I refinished the counter top in the kitchen except in that one spot. I installed the new blinds. I washed and scrubbed. I can do this. I don’t know why I am so reluctant with this last hole.  I CAN do this. I am capable. I am smart.

I look forward to the day when I will no longer feel like I need to hide my talents and skills from anyone because they don't have confidence in me and so I don’t want to share that I really do. I patched the floor and refinished it. It’s a big deal to ME… not so much to him. It mostly inconveniences him. I’ve been trying for ten years to get a new floor, because of the burn marks. BUT I PATCHED THEM. It looks like a new floor, actually like a new kitchen. One more patch for the counter top, which I could not convince hubby that it needed to be replaced. I’ve filled the scratches, and am patching the holes. A new cook top! Only took ten years to convince him we needed to replace it. We used only one burner for years. Finally it sparked when he was using it. So he believed me.

So I assume this is a guy thing. Well,   I don’t want to put up with THAT nonsense; but in some ways I am, when I am hiding what I am doing, like fixing the kitchen faucet, doorknobs, hinges, lamps, installing a drip system, refinishing furniture…  kind of strange to think about why I do this, and there's that piece of my damaged heart that needs fixing. 

Anyway. Holes. Fixing holes. Fixing hearts. Remembering that God is not part of time or space. Life is bigger than anything I can imagine. My dad is not dead; he’s still somewhere, puttering around. I have no idea what any of this looks like, but it isn’t over; and I don’t have to understand any of it. I picture God delightedly laughing at my efforts of understanding. I am His, and He knows me, and someday I’m going to dance with Him. And my dad. And Aaron. And Marilyn. And Edith. And Helga.And Dennie. And Anne. And....  And Uncle Alan and Aunt Marilyn. And…………………….so many gone.