i listen like a teenager sometimes

I accidentally got some free time recently, which is really the only way I get free time anymore except for the occasional Saturday that gets overlooked. I decided to spend the first big chunk of it in prayer for our teenagers, the next slightly smaller chunk digging into a pile of administrative-type stuff, and the last little chunk on whatever I felt like.

It was that last bit I was really looking forward to. Just the thought of having - say - an hour and a half to practice bass, or sew something - anything, or zine. Man. Wow. Not that I don't sometimes do those things anyway, but they're usually scheduled days out in my head. The very idea of 90 whole minutes being totally unplanned was enough to accelerate my pulse and make me a bit giddy.

That's right - my life is a roller coaster. The little dragon one that gets set up at traveling carnivals and goes in a small oval with a slight rise at either end. At least that's what it feels like from time to time, but I live by faith so I know it's not so. I can't wait to someday look back at all this from eternity and see the war being waged, and the battles I fought from the corner of my bedroom.

Anyway, the first two chunks of time having been expended, I was driving home for the highly anticipated third chunk. I was also feeling a little drained and a little bored and a little worthless, so as I waited to turn back onto Algonquin Road I asked Dad. "What's going on?" And I was overcome with the sense I needed to go home and pray more.

Not really what I wanted to hear. I wanted Him to tell me he was going to bless the sewing machine so I wouldn't have to worry about the foot peddle taking off without me.

I reminded Him of chunk #1 and thought I didn't even know what was left to pray for. I mean, I'm sure I could think of something, but come on. And I still feel like I'm doing something wrong when I pray; I can't imagine what it could be, but I walk away sometimes feeling so inadequate. And if I'm supposed to be praying for something in particular, then what? He'd mentioned Africa via crazy dream a couple weeks prior, but He hadn't said anything about it since then ...

And He cut me off, "How many times do I have to tell you?"

Oh. Okay. Sorry.

I got home and positioned myself in front of my VOM Prayer Map. The sewing machine stayed under it's plastic cover; the bass stayed in the corner, and the zine is still all over the floor by the art dresser. It's alright, though. This life is a vapor and all the fabric wrist cuffs in the world won't mean anything when it dissipates.