Tomorrow has the potential to be a big day. Well, tomorrow is a big day that is pregnant with potential. I’m not sure if it’s pregnant with a cute six-pound bundle of joy that everyone applauds the mother for getting back to her pre-pregnancy weight in three days or a twelve-pound hulk of a child that everyone sees the mother and smiles while thinking “Good Lord, woman! You ain’t ever getting your figure back.” Come to think of it, the day may be one of those odd women who shows signs of being pregnant, belly and all, without actually expecting. Who knows? I digress a bit, though.
While I don’t exactly feel at liberty to discuss what tomorrow holds in this forum, I do feel a need to explore my feelings a bit more. Perhaps by doing that I can better understand them. I am excited. That’s a given. Curious to be in the positions I’m in. A bit at a loss for some reason, still can’t get around that one. I believe, more than anything I’m nauseous. And not, “Ooo, there are butterflies in my tummy.” Oh no, my friend, this is one of those, “If I move too fast I am going to be forced to revisit my last meal in reverse and might have squishy shoes.” Yeah. Mull that over. Are you with me?
I’ve found myself trying to draw comfort from the M.V.P.’s of the Bible when it comes to facing the great unknown. Abraham gets God tapping him on the shoulder and saying, “Head ’em up and move ’em out, little doggie. I’m leading you to a new land.” (God, having no concept of time, had apparently just finished watching every Spaghetti Western ever created that day. Darn TBS and their marathons.) Joseph, who had to have been a little nervous about getting married anyway, gets told “Mary, your gal is pregnant. You’re not the father and, here’s the kicker, the real dad is God. Now, go, get married!” Peter has a really weird vision of a sheet filled with unclean animals and God telling him, “A la cuisine!” (Yes, God is a fan of Iron Chef.) There’s tons of others.
No one knew what was in store or how the road would go. I’m sure they felt like me or worse. The Bible is strangely quiet when it comes to the puking habits of the patriarchs. I would really love for there to be a verse in Exodus that went something like, “And the Lord God thus spoke unto Moses saying, “OK, dude, here’s the deal. You’re going to go back to the country where you’re a fugitive for killing a guy, tell the king you’re taking his main workforce and then physically lead this horribly whiney group of people back to the Promised Land.” And Moses, being verily greatly green in his gills, didst reply, “Pardon me, sir, before I go might you have a bucket? I am afraid that I am about to ruin your holy sandals with the mutton and flat bread that I just had for lunch.” That’s probably what happened but God, in his infinite wisdom, thought that we would focus too much on the spiritual application of what Moses had for lunch than what he had been called to do. Which, if I was honest with myself, is the important thing. He was called, he was nervous (what else would you call getting God to supply you with not one but two miracles on demand before you go), but in the end he faced the unknown. We forget a lot of the time that just because we know the end of the story doesn’t mean that Moses or any of those other guys with big beards and big staffs had a clue what was going to happen. Abraham gets scared he’ll be killed and half-lies about his relationship to his wife (they were half-siblings after all, it seems). Joseph thinks of ending the engagement. Still, in the end, you saddle up and ride into the sunset. That’s all we’re called to do.
Here’s hoping I don’t get saddle sores tomorrow.
Pax, little doggies.