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how it works

TITLE: whoknowswhere | Previous Challenge Entry
By Judith Gayle Smith-Owens Vitouswykegardinerclark
03/04/15
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Creakiy stooping, unwelcome strands of hair wisps into my mouth despite firmly, frustrated pursed lips, I testily brush the long straggles from my glaring eyes and unpleasantly perspiring face, struggling to see what fell so noisily to the cluttered floor. "My kingdom for a rubber band."

Always clumsily dropping escapable little things, adding unneeded confusion to the "Carnival of Crazy" surrounding me, I put all my faith and temper into my search. It must be the remote for my adjustable bed - again. My husband repeats, nightly: "You should keep it in one special place; that way you'll always know where it is." Easy for him to say. Most often I leave it on the rumpled comforter, and when our dog dives under the blanket, the remote flies "whoknowswhere."

Ah, the great greasy wilderness of "whoknowswhere." Did the remote get shoved to the foot of the bed, between the twin beds shoved together, or tangled within the bedclothes? There it is - toppled to the floor alongside the not yet grieved over hapless telephone. Oops - wrong remote.

I frighteningly endanger us all by putting faith in my not-so capable (culpable?) memory. Trusting my mind is ridiculous for easy recollection, as most often I find I lose my mind yet again.

Putting all my eggs in the wooden basket of my self faith, knowing no one else is blessed with my idyllic temperament, trusting my brain-fog addled mind to sort through the mental miasma laughingly referred to as grey matter.

Yup. Everything is sort of grey, like a fog bank dropped on the Pacific Coast Highway - in California. Correction - coming down the "Grapevine" into Los Angeles smack into the cut-it-with-a-knife hazy brown muck lovingly called smog.

An incredibly brilliant blue sky - the white orb of the sun blessing the jonquils into waving - and I cannot locate my camera. Squirrels, colorful squawking birds and fragrant blossoming trees await my patient ministrations, framing the glories of almost Spring. Where is that dratted camera?

Can't find my consargned watch. The finger watch with the bumblebee cover, crusted with blinding rhinestones, missing one leg and one eye - both on the same side. It's the second bee watch I purchased, and rhinestones are falling out same as the first. I really do not like repeating my mistakes - but the pretty watch is cheaper than watch batteries.
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My similarly inept sister drops her beads religiously. The accompanying shrieks of horrendous rage echo my sentiments exactly. Good thing she does her beading at the kitchen table - we'd do a lot of head bumping and snarling.

Our dog is overjoyed at our mishaps, gleefully grabbing the dropped pen, bead and unripe pear, running with it, growling over it and daring us to take it from him. We are too wary of his crocodile mouth snapping warningly, and he adds his new treasure to the ever-growing dog pile beneath the bed.

You would agree that stopping the maddening searches, the thoughts of cutting of all the curly locks smacking my face as I, bent head, try to find . . .

Whoa. Back up. My head is bowed, I am on my knees - this preacher's wife does not automatically think to pray? Who is my faith in? My faith? Myself? Why do I not think to turn to Jesus Who is probably shaking His Head with laughter mixed with pity for my deadheadedness.

And so His Holy Spirit nudges me in mid-groan agony. I gently take my beloved hubby's careworn arthritic gnarled hand and we humbly pray together for wisdom, strength, and yes - the remote for the bed. And, of course, I find it still on the bed - when I raise my head.

Gurk. Bedtime for this bozo. Stop stooping perilously for what I think I've lost, and bow to our Lord in true faith - trusting Him instead of my addlepated brain.

When I yield to Jesus and allow Him to take these smothering, overpowering burdens from me, I can sleep the sweetest sleep of all, when I will awaken snugged in Jesus' comforting and reassuring Arms.

Fight the good fight of faith - don't run from what, deep down - you know Who to trust, know where He dwells and why.

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