Yesterday felt like one of those awful, terrible, no-good days.
I got cavities filled on both sides of my mouth and my teeth ached for the rest of the day.
The realtor for one of the builders we wanted to interview contacted Daniel in the morning to see if we could meet that afternoon (I wanted to – well, I actually told Daniel to say no. I think it’s incredibly rude and unprofessional to expect someone to make plans on that short of notice. I had a dinner on the menu that required me to be in the house for a good part of the afternoon and really didn’t want to be disturbed. But I found some food in the freezer that I could thaw quickly and put in the crockpot, so we went ahead.)
I started messing around with one of the floor plans we’ve been looking at and lost most of the day with what ultimately turned out to be unproductive adjustments.
Our meeting with the builder didn’t give the information I sought and made me further annoyed with the realtor – and resulted in the conclusion that the house plan I like best would be basically unsellable in our community should we ever want to or need to move.
Furthermore, Tirzah Mae had a blow out while we were meeting with the builder and I was definitely not in the mood to deal with it once we got home. Instead, I sat on the couch with a bag of chips, moping and feeling bad about being a bad mother by letting my daughter sit in dirty clothes while I was pouting.
And then Jason showed up.
Jason who considers David Garcia (Daniel doesn’t bother to correct him) his friend.
Then again, he’d probably consider anyone who gives him tennis shoes and rides across town and meals at restaurants a friend.
Because Jason is homeless.
He asked for food and Daniel consulted with me. We invited him in, heated up some homemade pizza rolls, gave him a glass of milk.
He talked at us until 8 o’clock rolled around and Daniel had to tell him he’d need to finish up dinner quickly because we needed to get to bed. Truth is, we usually start preparing for bed long before that.
He left and I sprayed down the house to rid it of the peculiar odor of unwashedness and stale cigarette smoke. My petty complaints seemed so little when I looked at Jason.
I have people who love me, who delight in my presence. I have conversation, real conversation, with people who value my opinion and whose opinion I value. I have food and shelter and clothing that fits. I have a (relatively) clean toilet to relieve myself on and a sink to wash up. I can bathe or shower every day. I can hide from the sun when I want to, can seek out its warmth when it’s pleasing to me. I have food in abundance. I have a home and a clean bed to sleep in every night. I have options for travel – my feet, a bicycle, two cars. I have a mind not blown out by drugs. I have a marriage not destroyed by drugs.
And I have Jesus. Oh, of all the things I have that he lacks, this is the best, the most precious. Even if I were reduced to his level of poverty, I would still have Jesus. As he rambled his mostly incoherent fragments, rarely pausing for us to reply and interrupting us if we ever tried, I was reminded how thankful I am that I have Jesus.