When I was a lot younger and still believed in God, I said something to kH about praying for patience.

“Oh, no,” he said (as I recall). “Don’t pray for patience. The way you develop patience is by enduring a lot of pain.”

Yes. Yes, that’s true.

One day I was listening to How Can I Keep From Singing? and thought, you know, I need a rock, a mental rock, to cling to when things are bad.

So all those years ago, I decided to go back to church, to the denomination of my youth.

Later, I realized church was built on sand and not rock (to steal from a common VBS song) and that if I was going to be happy, I was going to be my own damned rock.

(But not an island, however much it feels like it sometimes.)

If I were going to stretch this rock metaphor any further, I might talk about obsidian and pumice. Sharp and brittle. Tools to be used to cut or to give one heck of a pedicure–

Nah. That’s enough rock nonsense.

All of this is my way of saying my life is hard, harder than it’s ever been. (And that is saying something.)  It’s not my story to tell, most of it, and I have no control over what will happen. I do what I can (jump at every contract job that is thrown my way, for example, even if it means I’m working for a pittance here and there while everyone is sleeping, do all the housework, all the errands and the lessons and the appointments and it never stops).

That rock? I’m not sure where I put it, and that scares me. And my rock doesn’t work for kH; he has to figure out where he put his (and he’s got ADD, so good luck there; half the time he can’t find his keys).

pH is lined up for summer camps, and I do my best to keep her busy with schoolwork and museums and outings and concerts. As for me? Well, I write when I have time and I research when I’m too tired to write and I read when I’m too tired to research.

And of course, there’s always music when I’m too tired for that.