Unmovable

Today was another weird day.  Yesterday many of my coworkers were asking why I seemed so down.  I didn’t exactly feel as though I had to explain myself.  Idiots.

This morning on my way to work the train was crossing Industiral Boulevard and I got stuck smack dab in the middle of the bridge.  I rarely catch the train and when I do I can often make it to the exit.  I found myself estimating the weights of the vehicles in front of me.  The Coca-Cola truck, the SUV, the mid-sized sudan….No Idea.  Even since I was young I’ve had a problem with bridges.  Not heights, mind you, but the idea of being suspended on a piece of construction built by the lowest bidder and holding up not only myself, but thousands of pounds of metal, upholstery and whatever is in the trunk.

I began to panic.  My heart pounded and my breathing became heavy and rapid.  Even though I sat in the car all alone I said aloud, “I don’t like this!  I don’t like this!” over and over.  I must have looked like a cat being crated for the first time.

I was finally able to make my way to the bridge exit so I could loop to the interstate.  Fourty minuets later, my smoking gadget, The Chuck, quit on me.  The atomizer (herein referred to as an “atty”) is what heats the liquid nicotine and water mixture and turns it into a vaper, allowing the user to inhale like a cigarette.  This is what keeps me from smoking currently and has kept me quit for nearly two months.  It died.  I dug through my purse and found my spare; never leave home without a spare everything.

My spare, brand new, out of the package, was completely dead.  I announced I had to run home and would be right back.  I clocked out and made my way home as fast as possible.  I nearly made Shawn crap himself when he heard shuffling around from the front of the house.  Good thing he was already hovered over the toilet.  New atty in hand, and everything working as it should, I got my needed nicotine fix and hurried back to work.

This is God’s sense of humor at work:  I got stuck on the bridge AGAIN by another train (or possibly the same one moving at a rate of two feet per minute) and got stuck on the bridge AGAIN.

Once on the interstate though, I felt a sensation I hadn’t recognized for a couple days.  I was hungry.  Really hungry.  I ate an apple about an hour later and stayed quit busy for the rest of the day.  Maybe you might say there is no God, but I believe there certainly is and He knew exactly what I needed to take my mind off everything.  I was actually hungry, for crying out loud.

Once I got off work, nine hours later and exhausted, I rushed through my errands and ran a marathon around the house getting Shawn’s dinner and school stuff ready while trying to shower and keep tabs on our flashlight e-cig customers.  I did chores with lightening speed because I knew I would hate to them tomorrow, on my birthday.

Shawn came home from work, I slammed a chicken sandwich in him and shoved him off to school.  A short time later, I found myself at the funeral home where I expected a simple evening visitation.  First of all, it was standing room only.  I stood alone in sea of strangers of all shapes, sizes, ages, and colors.

It was a full blown service, complete which beautiful music and a testimony of Marianne’s life.  A short, amazing sermon on salvation was given and a woman spoke of all the wonderful things Marianne had doone in her fifty-five years.  Marianne’s husband, David, spoke a very long time on Marianne’s giving and ministry and kindness, and love.  David sang many of her favorite songs, part in English, part in Spanish and it melding together like butter and sugar in a beautiful bi-lingual manner. 

Growing up in Texas you cannot live your life not picking up some Spanish, though I did not quite recognize the praise songs until David began to sing in English.  He has an amazing voice.

I saw only a couple people from work.  Enedina, who worked with Marianne in the alterations department for several years, her daughter Amanda.  I felt a hand on my back, there was Austin, the eighteen year old boy who works the front counter part-time.  I could be wrong, I mean, it’s hard to tell from the backs of heads but that was the only ones I saw from work. 

Marianne was one of those people you knew was different.  She had love in her heart and in her life, the kind of love only God can give.  I hate to sound preachy with this, but her actions and the way she spoke told you she had God in her heart, even if she not yet spoken to you about God.

Marianne was unmovable in her faith, never moving.