Random Thoughts

Mostly, my thoughts aren't very good ones. I try not to think of any of them very often. I think that Sara and I could really use some time off, but with school bus driving and HRB, I don't see anything happening until late Spring. We are going to give up the dog, so that would be one less hindrance to a quick weekend off, but there is just too much else in the way. I think that I need to discuss my depression medicine with my doctor. However, the last time, he wanted me to see a specialist. This was not a rewarding experience! For one thing, the specialist immediately took me off of the medicine that I was and still am taking. In just a very few days, I was in a deep pit. I don't mind trying to change meds, but I can't wait for the 4 - 6 weeks that it normally takes for a new medicine to take over for the old one. That many weeks, that far out of balance, may be all it takes to push me completely over the edge, just as happened in Columbia, SC several years ago. The way I feel right now, it is far better to hide myself in the anonymity of a crowd than to be with one or two friends. Church and Sunday school aren't reaching me right now. If I never went back to Sunday school, it would be okay. There is no appeal to watching DVDs and answering simple questions. I think that I would much prefer strong discussion and even disagreement. I am probably going to try a visit to another class next Sunday. Actually, my whole relationship with God seems to be in bad shape. There is no easy way to explain this, but here are the thoughts that I had on it just the other day put in the terms of the food I eat. I was born eating mashed turnips. I don't like turnips, but even as a young person, I recognized that turnips were better than being hungry. When I accepted Christ as my savior, I switched from mashed turnips to mashed potatoes. Boy, did I ever like mashed potatoes. Sometimes, they even came with a bit of butter or, on very special occasions, with lots of gravy. Those were the times that I seemed the closest to God and it seemed to me that I was doing just a little bit to advance the Kingdom. In the summer of 2009, obstacles were overcome and hesitations answered by what I considered God's plan for me, and I spent 3 month on the Navajo Reservation working with the area Methodist Mission. I went from eating mashed potatoes to eating vanilla ice cream. During the best times on the reservation, I had chocolate syrup on that ice cream. Almost always, I felt like I was following God's plan for me and I wanted it to last forever, or at least to last much, much longer. When the funding dried up and I returned home, I just knew in my heart that God had even more exciting ways, for me to be in service to him, ready for me to undertake. Boy was I wrong! After almost 15 months back home, I've decided that God really doesn't have a plan for me after all. I am all the way back to eating mashed turnips and I find that I really don't care. If it is not plain to me that God actually wants me, why should I worry about finding and fulfilling His plan? Prayer is something from the past and church just a habit. My sons worry me. One of them either can't or won't find the time to talk to me about the one big issue that has me concerned, even though he is aware of the concern. I don't so much care what the future outcome of the issue might be as I want just to know what rationale is behind the current course of action, or inaction as the case may be.It is as if I am holding a lottery ticket and know already that I've matched 5 out of 6 numbers. My son knows what the 6th number is and knows whether or not I'll have a winning ticket, but doesn't seem too concerned about letting me know that 6th number. The other son refuses to protect himself against a future issue concerning money. Just how far into the future or how much money, who knows? But as surely as night follows day, it is coming. I'm glad he isn't Noah. I don't think he'd bother with building an ark until the water was waist deep. I still think that I would just like to quit on my everyday life. Unlike Maya Angelou, I do not "know why the caged bird sings."