November 22, 2011
Well, had to come back into town today. Not only gettin' stuff ready for Thanksgivin'--hubby says that since it's cold and rainy, he wants us to have the truck for feedin' Alyssa's critters. Says we can't walk in the dark in the cold and the rain. Isn't that sweet?
He may be a Redneck--but he's wonderful.
Okay--preppin' for Thanksgivin'. Since we won't be goin' down to Texas this year, and we really just wanna relax--no guests, no big meal--
I will be fixin' Puerco Pibil.
Puerco Pibil is really wonderful--and easy, cheap--and just TASTY.
And yet it's just pork butt that's been marinated in spices, orange juice, a splash of tequila and then slow roasted for several hours. You serve it over rice or with tortillas. I'll probably make a large salad to go with it.
Was that thunder?
Nope--my tummy rumblin' just thinkin' about it.
This mornin' the alarm went off, and I went to fix the guys coffee. I woke Obie up, and when he stuck his head out from under the blankets--I burst out laughin'.
He had gone to sleep with hair still damp from bathin', and when he woke up--he had these 'horns' stickin' out from the sides of his head! He looked like a horned owl!
I told him he was gettin' a haircut this mornin', since his hair had reached this stage. He was thrilled, since he prefers a buzz cut anyway. I have to borrow the neighbor's clipper set, since ours had died a few weeks back, and that was how his hair got that long. One of his Christmas gifts this year will be a new set of clippers.
We did what we could with a damp hairbrush to tame his 'feathers', but it will take a haircut to truly remedy the situation.
While I was gettin' dressed, I got to thinkin' about my eulogy for when I shuffle off this mortal coil. No--nuthin's wrong--I'm healthy as the proverbial equine--it was after seein' one of my favorite t-shirts this mornin'. It says:
LIVE YOUR LIFE SO THE PREACHER WON'T HAVE TO LIE AT YOUR FUNERAL.
It ain't scripture--but it's good advice, doncha think?
Anyway--I got to thinkin' about what I would like to have said over my remains on that day, 'cause I know who I want to do the service--my little Preacher at our cowboy church. I know that he will 'get' how I want stuff done, and he'll understand when the music played will be not only Keith Green's "Lord You're Beautiful" and Ray Perryman's "I Can Only Imagine", but also Confederate Railroad's "Still One Outlaw Left", and Junkyard Gentry's "Tonight The Eagle's Got To Fly Alone".
I know that Preach will say stuff about my life--some good, some funny. There may an anecdote or two, maybe even a poem I wrote.
(BTW, Preach--I'm not tellin' ya what to say--just ponderin'. If you are the one to do my funeral someday--you have my confidence that you'll do a good job.)
But when he gets up to speak--there are some things that I want to make certain he DOESN'T say.
I don't want him to say "Her faith in God never wavered" or "She never doubted."
Cause sometimes it does, and sometimes I do.
Don't get me wrong--I know that He is always in charge, and I know that He will always do what is best and He is ALWAYS on time--just maybe not on MY schedule.
But don't hold me up as a spiritual giant who never had doubts or fears--because I don't want someone listenin' to ever think that I was anything special.
Cause I ain't.
I'm just me--but for some bizarre reason, God found me worth dyin' on a cross for so I could spend eternity with Him.
Yeah, I know. Weird, huh?
So, Preach, just tell the folks the truth. That sometimes I called you cryin' over stuff that freaked me out. That sometimes I just got so darned mad I could snatch a buffalo bald. And that sometimes, like Elijah, I just laid down and begged God to let me die.
You tell 'em how after I did all that nonsense and finished my hissy fits with God--
I got up, wiped the dirt off, and stood facin' those giants--and spit in their faces.
Tell 'em how I shoved my sleeves up and declared that I serve a God of power and grace, and how I'm not a victim--but a victor.
And then you tell 'em how I got the heck outta His way, and let Him handle whatever life threw my way.
"Then all this assembly shall know that the LORD does not save with sword and spear; for the battle is the LORD's and He will give you into our hands." 1 Samuel 17:47 NKJ
You tell 'em, Preach.
Well, I got chores. later ya'll.
© 2011 by Evelyn Edgett