Obedience Over Sleep

Yeah, yeah, yeah... I heard y'all. I haven't been writing much lately, and when I have, it's been depressing as balls. (Yes, I said "as balls." Deal with it.)

That's just the season I've been slogging through. Slogging might be too positive of a word for this situation. More like swirling around the drain of a death spiral with the occasional attempt to climb out of the stream, only to be nudged back into the flow... all while maintaining the "I'm fine" smile, because that's just what tough girls do.

But that's not really what this is about.

I timed out my day with plans to relax, get that illusive yet allegedly essential eight hours of sleep, go to the gym, then head to work. Easy peasy, right?

Wrong. I woke up about three hours into sleep time.

I tried praying, knocking off a couple items from the ever-growing to-do list, snacking, Facebooking, etc. Still wide awake. So, I grabbed the book I've been reading at the slowest possible pace, "Girl, Wash Your Face" by Rachel Hollis.

I'm a pretty fast reader, so spending a couple months on a book is incredibly unusual. The reason it's been taking so long is that pretty much every chapter is super relevant and convicting in some way, so I only make it through one before setting it down to stew and chew on it.

Today was no different. Of course, the first chapter I read (no, I'm not gonna tell you which one, sucker!) was directly related to that thing I was praying about. I kid you not. My brain went into overdrive thinking about her story and the similarity to mine, which I was so not here for. Hard pass.

So, I read another one to distract myself. Spoiler alert: IT MADE IT ALL WORSE. Now, my brain is all fired up on multiple things. Thanks for that, Rachel.

I tried to sleep it off, but that's just not how God works, is it?

Nope. He had to plant a some bloggable thoughts into my brain that were not going to go quietly. Here's how this argument went down.

God: *plants ideas*
Me: Cool. I'll do it later.
God: I've heard that before. You never wrote those posts.
Me: My bad. But, I'll really do it tomorrow.
God: No, you won't.
Me: I need to sleep! I work early tonight!
God: And?
Me: If I go write, I'll be tired and sucky at work.
God: I'll sustain you.
Me: But...
God: WERE YOU NOT LISTENING IN CHURCH SUNDAY? Didn't Koppang just preach about obedience?
Me: Yeah, but...
God: Okay, now you are going to write about obedience first.
Me: *Sighs and grabs laptop.*

Yes, I'm stubborn. Whatever. Don't act like you aren't too.

Pastor James' point Sunday was that obedience to the voice of God will result in a better life. It will solve your problems because you aren't doing things in your own strength, but rather relying on Him to guide you on the path He designed for you. Had the children of Israel obeyed, their lives would have been much easier.

Disobedience is pretty childish, isn't it?

How many times do you hear Christians saying that they want to be used by God, but then prioritize their own agendas over an opportunity to serve? Oh, so guilty on that one. How many times has that been you?

It's pretty hard for God to move when His people are being stubborn children who won't pick up their mess and share their toys. We can pout or throw a fit about it, but what ends up happening? I don't know many parents who will reward that kind of behavior. God is a Father who wants to heap rewards and blessings and goodness onto our lives because He loves us and we are His. But, He's a good and just Father, so misusing our free will can become a hindrance to our own blessings if we let it.

All He wants is obedience.

So, here I am, writing when I should be sleeping. (Well, my alarm just went off, but that plan to workout is now off the table! Ha!) I guess we will see how this obedience over flesh thing works out for me.

P.S. To the prayer warrior who, after the message on obedience, spoke over me that God would wake me up when I'm sleeping to talk, could you redirect that prayer with a better time frame? Please?!

Double Whammy: Losing Two Grandparents In Two Months

Pretty sure I've spent more time in Michigan in the last six months than the previous three years combined. Life is full of surprises, but this is one I could have done without.

Two months ago, I was sitting in this same exact seat writing about my grandmother (on my dad's side). This time, we buried my grandfather (on my mom's side) and didn't see it coming. He'd give me a spock bite and a slap upside the back of my head if I said much more than that on the internet, so I'll just say it was a really fast decline. Once again, I had a flight home booked to see a sick grandpa, but came just days away from seeing him again.

I went for a walk around the farm, thinking of all the moments I shared with him on that land. It's hard not to smile walking around that place. Every detail reminds me of my childhood, even more so because grandma insisted I wear his boots on the walk. At some point of their toddler-hood, every grandchild was placed in his boots and photographed while they clomped around on the dusty tile floor.

The fields have laid fallow for several years as grandpa aged and couldn't get around as well, but he taught me how to grow food there. I remembered all the times he'd hold me up in the branches of the mulberry trees so I could keep eating after I stripped the lower ones of all ripe fruit. I thought about the sledding we did into one particular valley. I'm not sure if the memory of grandpa losing his glasses in the snow is actually in my brain from that day, or from seeing the home videos. 

Grandma told me not to go all the way down to the river where he taught me to fish, since water levels have been high recently, but I walked along the ridge and saw it at a distance.  There are paths where I ran the horses and where grandpa and I hunted for mushrooms, even though I would never eat those disgusting things like everyone else. 

I laughed at the sheer number of rusted, old vehicles and machinery between the trees. I mean, he even still has his beat up red, Ford pick-up truck that we would co-drive around the farm, which he still drove. There is a picture of me as a toddler with my hands on the wheel of that thing. Now, it has holes in the floorboards and an empty pack of cigarettes in the seat that he'll never smoke. It's those little details that were like a punch in the gut. Things like opening his car door and being hit with the smell of his Marlboros.

Even more difficult is something I didn't have to experience with the loss of my other two grandparents: watching my grandma go through losing her husband. She's so lost and there is nothing we can do about it. We all thought she'd go first, so she was not prepared to be without him. This fall would have marked their 60th anniversary, so I can't even imagine the difficulty of this transition. She breaks down crying every couple hours. Seeing her sit in front of the casket and receiving his flag after the American Legion played 'Taps'... good Lord, I was not prepared to witness that. Over the past couple days, she's told me so many stories as we searched for one form in the file of his 25 year military career. (Side note: Grandpa was a stud in the Navy, both in looks and his top notch performance reviews. Haha!) 

Honestly, when my sister called to tell me he was gone, I thought it was a prank and he was finally getting me back for a sneak visit from six years ago. He promised he would get me back, and so help him if I ever tried that shenanigan again. He was so stern, but had massive soft spots for his grandkids. He expected big things out of us and was always there to help or teach us. From planting and fishing as a small child, to knitting as a kid, to driving (and using a gallon of milk to teach me not to slam on the brakes...), he was involved in so many aspects of who I am. I mean, he even encouraged my love of baking by paying me to whip up dozens of pies at a time, which my grandparents froze and ate throughout the year.

Grandpa checked in on my homeschooling frequently to make sure we were meeting his high standards. Grandpa and I spent a lot of time reading with me and stirring up the curiosity in me that turned me into a journalist. I'll never forget complaining to my mom about struggling with one of the literature selections. It was so boring, I kept falling asleep. Grandpa happened to be in town, so he said if he could do it, I had to suck it up and do it too. I've never been so happy to see him sleep! 

At the service, I met a woman my grandpa became close friends with over the last couple years. His latest project was beekeeping, and she helped him with it. When my mom introduced me, the woman gushed that she heard so much about me and that he was so proud of me. Yeah, I lost it. Hearing that someone with such high standards was proud of you, to the point of telling a stranger about you? That carries some pretty heavy weight.

Seriously, people. Don't take your grandparents for granted.

Don't mind me if you catch me crying over a Pepsi, Snickers or horseradish while listening to "meegoes." But Lord help us all the first time someone dares to call me "'Squirt", "Kiddo", or "Knucklehead" after this. Guaranteed, it's going to result in tears.

Note: I might swap some photos for childhood snapshots... if I track down those old albums..

Monte Sr.
11/23/37 - 4/13/18