Making Hay on a Sunday

"Gotta make hay while the sun shines," I'm often hollering around here, choleric to the core, it's not about having fun, but rather it's about getting it done, my priorities driving me all day.

A farmer up the road must've cut his hay down yesterday, knowing we had sunny days ahead, because if he doesn't get it baled up while sun-dried, it'll mold and rot from within, rendering it useless as cattle feed, which is a whole different story anyway as any good vegetarian who's concerned about world hunger knows this one thing. It takes six pounds of grain, fed to an inefficient animal, to produce one pound of beef which'll eventually kill a human anyway what with it's high fat content and all the chemical crap injected into the grain-based feed.

Frances Moore Lappe introduced me to that concept nearly 40 years ago, I'm still staggered at the thought.

Jonathan very darkly informed us all he wasn't gonna go to church, well, that's no surprise. He did his dead level best to provoke Paloma all morning, but her Abilify/Lexapro/Clonedine/Lithium helped her maintain her cool. She's taking a summer vacation from Concerta. Why build up an immunity to it when it helps her to concentrate so much better in school?

I'm sitting here with him, missing Sunday School, knowing I'll have other backup in an hour so that I can get to church for the sermon, knowing deeply that a hard head like me desperately needs to be reminded of God's goodness as often as is possible. My quiet time this morning was interrupted by a necessary phone call, crud to tend to, extremely grateful that I don't have to still deal with this on a daily schedule. I did successfully find the help that I needed for her...even though she's rejecting it as well.

A big vindication for me, an I told you so that I'll withhold, as it would be a negative, pointless waste of time to bother with gloating.

As frustrated as I am, I still know that it'll all wash out in the end. There's a reason I do what I do, even though there are often few encouragements and even less external rewards.

Someday I'll know, to my core, that I'll be able to look back with very few regrets in that I've poured myself out into children who can then choose to reject everything or can choose to excel. It's up to them.

I'll keep on making hay while the Son shines, and strengthens me, on this gorgeous Sunday morning.