Either the Edge of Glory or the Edge of a Cliff...

Somewhere between rolls of twine and a freezer of leftover ziti, I lost my cool.  Tension had been building for a while; my to-do list was growing when it should be shrinking; my day was too full to get anything done; daily life was encroaching on my bridal dreams.

And then yesterday.  HTB walked with me to visit Bestie and Bestie Jr.'s mom, who had embroidered some weddings gifts so beautifully.

"I don't know how to tell you this, Amanda," she said, "but these scarves are filthy."  Imagine the horror on my face as I see a scarf that had been so neatly tucked into its store packaging, clean and tidy, now strewn with dots of mysterious dried matter and dirt smears.  All of that had been so cleverly hidden by said store packaging.  I felt ill.  I had bought those in Chicago.  In June.  And here I am, 38 days before the wedding (but who's counting?), with filthy shawls for my bridesmaids.

I held it together.  Walking back home, HTB (who likes to straddle the line between trying to be helpful and trying to make me laugh) was about to make a suggestion.

"Just don't even say it if it's not helpful," I said, casting a warning glance in his direction. 

"I actually think this is kind of a good idea," he said. 

"OK...?"

"What if you just tye-dye them?  Then no one could tell!" 

"Really?  REALLY?!  Tye-Dye.  What are we, hippies?!"

Despite HTB's fantastic advice, I managed to deal with the situation.  And then I saw one of the monograms.  I had given Bestie's mom the WRONG initals for one of my bridesmaids.  Well, it was the right initials, but in the wrong order.  Her shawl now reads "KJV," like she's a Bible or something.  Sorry buddy... I suck.

But HTB now wants to forever refer to her as "King James."

I believe after that, I kind of fell in to HTB's arms and muttered things like "Just want to go to heaven," and "Don't even want to be alive anymore," and "Can't handle it."  A little dramatic?  Perhaps.  But slightly accurate?  Maybe.

And then today, let's just say that after a rude line-cutter at the post office a stupid USPS employee, frozen containers of baked ziti falling out of the freezer and busting, and dozens of gnats being born in my drain, it was even more accurate.

But thankfully, we're still reading through the Psalms backwards and last night read Psalm 39.  I couldn't even get through the Psalm for my tears.  HTB picked up where I left off and read about how our lives are but vapors; we must number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.  Life is short.  In the grand scheme of things, what does a shawl matter?  Or a jerk at the Post Office?  They don't.  The only thing that really matters is if I'm glorifying God through each situation.

So... now I'm either on the edge of glory or the edge of a cliff, but either way, I'm going to try my darndest, with God's help, to employ fewer tears and more joy.