Creepy Facial Hair and Where Does the Diet Begin

-- As most of you already know, Greg sports a nearly-constant goatee. I occassionally will make him shave it off for the sake of kissability. When it gets to a certain length, it's kind of like making out with a hairbrush with lips. I have difficulty in enjoying our, er, "us time" when it gets to this point. So I will beg and plead that he trim the cactus living on his face, and he is usually pretty sweet and compliant about it all. HOWEVER--Greg takes great joy in getting my goat (no pun intended) by shaving with *creativity*. Oh, I wish I had a picture. Greg will shave. But due to his love of performing, he will shave in STAGES. Each stage leads to less goatee and more creepiness. He loves to take on various personas depending on what his goatee looks like (farmer, horny pepe le pew-like man-person, Boris from Rocky and Bullwinkle, etc). It usually takes him about 45 minutes to get the job done because of this. And with every "stage" of shavedness, he will come out of the bathroom to show me the latest shape/accent combo. For some reason, I find his creepy facial hair super-disturbing and usually run away in terror. Of course, this leads to him chasing me around the house, using his accent, and it's all very married and wonderful and I love it even though I'm annoyed. Eventually he does shave it all, but not without some major nagging on my part. Do all men do this? Or is it just a Greg thing? Ren Faire is next week. We are taking my sister's family for the first time. I am very excited, but I have a feeling the latest goatee will be coming along with us, whether I like it or not.

--10-year-reunion is less than 5 months away and I have got to lose some of this baby weight, or I'm just going to feel self-conscious the whole time I'm there. One of my favorite movies ever is "Grosse Point Blank". In it, Joan Cusack's character talks about her 10-year reunion. She says, "Yes I did [go to my 10-year-reunion]. It was just as if everyone had swelled."

I DON'T WANT TO BE SWOLLEN!

Funny thing is, I never gave weight a thought then. I ate pretty much whatever I wanted and stayed as skinny as I wanted to be. This lasted through college. Darned metabolism. Seriously. It's like once you get married and have babies, your body says, "Okay, you've procreated. You can be fat now." The kiddos are worth it, but man! It is a lot of work getting rid of all this extra poundage. I am having serious issues getting started.

Anybody up for being a diet-fitness partner with me?

Hope

One of Emily Dickinson's best loved poems is called, "Hope"

The first couple of lines say, "Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches on the soul..."

When I envision that feathered thing, I have recently been picturing Big Bird. I used to picture a nightingale.

Greg and I have talked about this. We have decided there are two kinds of hope... there is a worldly hope, and then there is Eternal hope. Eternal hope is the only kind that ever feels real to me. My hope for eternity is full of joy and contentment and it feels *light* and good because I know my eternity is taken care of. Jesus is my hope for Eternity, and I know I get to be in Heaven with Him someday. This is good!

But worldly hope depends on circumstances, and whether God decides to give us a 'yes' or a 'no'. Unfortunately, I cannot say for sure where that will lead. So, we cannot really know what will happen. My hope in this life feels shakey and unstable.

"My hope is built on nothing less than Jesus' blood and righteousness
All other ground is sinking sand"

Since Greg got his layoff, I've been battling with worldly hope--the sinking sand kind. Hope feels heavy these days. I don't want to rely on hope alone because hope has nothing to do with outcome any more than worry or anger. I can feel hopeful, but that is not going to mean that the hope will lead to anything. Hope is a feeling--an emotion. You can want something to death and never actually get it.

But for some reason, I keep on hoping! Why do I need to hope? Why is there this intrinsic part of me that hopes beyond all hope that Greg will have his job next year and we will not be stuck moving back in with one of our parents' homes? Why do I hope that we will be able to stay in this house without having to take on menial jobs, go on welfare, and put our children in daycare?

And then that worldy hope is actually almost synonymous with worry. And we are outright commanded not to worry.

Maybe I'll call it hopry.

One of the hardest parts of being a Christian has been coming to the point in my life where you realize your life is not about you, but it's about God doing stuff through you. How I RESPOND when God dishes out Job- (the person Job in the Bible... not talking about occupation/careers, here) -like moments is the true mark of my character. And to me, it's just plain HARD to keep on trucking--to keep the faith--to continue living like a believer when the world feels so weighty. I need to be okay with whatever might come my way, because it's the only way I'll make it through, faith-in-tact. I'm trying, and I believe that God is working even when I can't feel it.

But even if Greg gets his job back, I'm sure I'll still find things to hopry about.