The post I should have posted

Well, it's a day late and a dollar short, but here is something more like I should have posted on Father's Day.

Well, this is my Daddy through the years. He will give anyone the shirt off his back without hesitation. It's a trait that drives me crazy, because if I am around, it usually ends up inconveniencing me. However, I think it is a trait that most of us could use more of. The things I want to say about this man are too personal for me to share here, but I want my Daddy to know that I love him and I am so very grateful for his presence in my life.

My Grandpa is one of a kind. Literally. He is the only Grandfather I have, and honestly, I have never wanted that to change. I stole this pic from my sister's blog, mostly because I think it really captures my Grandpa. On the outside, he can be a bit gruff, especially if you make him angry, but you soon realize he's just fiercely protective of his grandkids. He is truly one of the hardest workers I have ever encountered. He taught me that any job worth doing is worth doing well, and it's stuck with me. When I need advice on life, money, spirituality, or anything else, he is my go-to guy. Life would be a whole lot different without the influence of my Grandpa. I don't want to even imagine it.

Picking up the pieces

Well, long story short: Today has been a really bad Fathers Day. Just kind of disappointing. I went to sleep at about 3am last night. All good and well until 8am rolls around this morning, and I realize I have to work from 9 - 4. When I got off at 4, I decided to head up to Idaho to see Grandpa. All good and well until I hear about some horrific storm that I will have to drive through. At that point, I decide to turn around and go see my sister instead. All good and well until I decide to stop and visit my niece's grave. I get out of the car and am sitting there for a bit. All good and well until a car pulls up behind mine, (literally about 15 yards away from me) a guy gets out, breaks my window, and grabs my purse.

Was there much of value in there? Nope. $21 in cash, and even less attached to my debit card. A pack of gum, hair brush, pair of socks (not brand new, gently used) a book, a dozen pens, and a half dozen chapsticks (not cherry, thank you) I feel slightly vindicated that my purse looks a lot like a laptop bag, and I am pretty sure the dude who stole it is pissed off that he took that and left the ipod on the seat, because it sure will not pay off.

I am oddly ecstatic that I had my journal with me at my niece's grave. Not because I think the tweaker who broke into my car is interested in my deepest thoughts, but because I have been so faithful in writing in this journal. This is my first successful journal I have ever kept. Usually, I last all of about two cookie-cutter entries before the journal joins the other discarded, failed journals in my drawer. Not this one. I am going on two months, and it is nearly full. I am so proud of myself, and so happy that it was not stolen. I can handle having to buy new gum, chapstick, and paying the $18 to get a duplicate license. I don't know if I could handle losing my journal.

While I was vacuuming up the pieces of glass (which literally flew EVERYWHERE in the car!) I realized how ironic the phrase picking up the pieces is. This is not a hugely traumatic occurrence. It happens every day, and to be honest, I was asking for it to happen by leaving my purse on the front seat. I usually am not that careless, but part of the problem is that I trusted too much in the goodness of people today. I assumed that everyone else in the world would be celebrating Father's Day, and not plotting to do evil. I assumed that people pulling into a cemetery are there to find peace or mourn the dead, not scoping out cars for valuables. I assumed that my car was safe because I was so close. None of those proved true.

I feel more violated that I want to admit. The things in my purse are all completely replaceable. I have a passport, so proof of citizenship and identification are non-issues. I have my beloved journal, the record I am keeping for future generations. I am just angry that my purse is likely sitting in a dumpster a few blocks from the cemetery at this point; discarded as worthless by the thief, but infinitely valuable to me. I am angry because I got that purse in Australia. My sister gave me the yellow wallet for my birthday. Both are truly irreplaceable. I am angry that my lips are feeling chapped, and not only do I have no cash to buy chapstick, I have no cards to use either. I am angry that this happened to me. But, there is still a silver lining.

I heard the infamous still, small voice. I absolutely did not heed it, because it told me to just go straight to my sister's house, and then to just visit fast, then leave. I followed it not at all, but I heard it. This is possibly the first time I have recognized that voice, and the knowledge feels nice.
My journal is here. It seems so trite, but I am so grateful for it.
I am fine, and they didn't steal the car.
I still have my ipod, thus my music. It is shocking for me to think about how much time I spend listening to music. I fall asleep to hymns, and they play all night long. I listen to music in the morning while getting ready, I listen to it any time I am in the car, and then once I get home at night. The cycle repeats daily.

The situation is more annoying than I can express, but there is still much to be grateful for, and thankfully the pieces I have to pick up were mostly vacuum-safe.

Purpose

Well, I love to go on night drives. They calm me and make me a much happier person to be around. I have never thought much about why I love night drives until I was asked last week. I honestly did not have an answer at the time, and it kind of bothered me.

Tonight was a gorgeous night. I could tell it was going to be pretty at sunset. It was not a red-orange-pink sunset, but a simple blue. Just the bluest blue imaginable. There was not a cloud in the sky, and the moon was nowhere to be seen. Those kind of sunsets turn into beautiful nights. The kind that make the mountains leave a black outline on the sky; the kind that make your heart feel like it's fallen out of your chest.

Nights like this make me ancy. I need to drive on nights like these. On nights like tonight, I feel like there is nothing in the world but me, the sky, the mountains, and the Lord. Nights like tonight thoroughly convince me that there is some sort of plan. Nights like these are not some interplanetary happenstance that I stumbled upon. It's part of the plan.

On nights like these, I see so vividly my role in this plan. My life has purpose and meaning. I live for these nights. I want to soak them up, because I know it will not last, but while it does, I am happy. Nights like these convince me that if it all ended right now, it'd be ok. You see, I am more content than I have ever been.