As of three days ago, Chris and I are officially members of the YMCA. Do you know what this means for you, dear readers? This means that many, many, many (many!) more embarrassing stories are sure to follow promptly for your reading pleasure. Because it is pretty much guaranteed that if you put me in a foreign building full of people who already know what they're doing, (whilst I, of course, remain clueless), things are undoubtedly going to take a turn towards the MORTIFYING before you can say 'Bob's your Uncle'.
I've never had a gym membership before. I've never even worked out in a gym before. OKAY, heck! I can't even remember being in a gym other than the one at the University of Nevada that I had to walk through in order to get to my rock climbing class about 6 years ago. I am like, the most inexperienced and uneducated workout person on the face of this planet.
Those machines in there? They have computers on them. They talk to you. There are clippy clips to attach to your clothing in case you fall off the back of an apparatus and no one discovers that you are missing for three days... There are numbers and blinking lights and codes and input jacks... Calorie counters and cup holders...
Maybe I'll just stick to the indoor track.
After a brief tour of the facility a couple of days ago, the woman lead us back to the front door and abruptly asked if we had any questions about what she'd just shown us. Ezra had been yelling in my ear and attempting to break into the raquetball cubes for most of the duration of the tour, so I hadn't quite heard everything she had said. I had a MILLION questions I could have asked her... Including (but not limited to)::
"What EXACTLY do I do when I get into the locker room?" "Are there naked people in there?" "Do I have to be naked in there?" "Can I bring a note from my mom telling you I must be excused from said nakedness- due to publicnudityophobia?"
I cannot even change my shirt in my bedroom without going around and closing ALL of the blinds and then standing in that one spot in the room where no one could see me even if they had super x-ray vision goggles. (Because the full length mirror would deflect the ultra x-ray beams, I reckon.)
I digress. More questions:
"How do I operate this machinery without looking like I have no idea what I'm doing?" "What do I wear to yoga without looking like I have no idea what I'm doing?" "How often does the staff rotate so that I can come back after I make a fool of myself because I have no idea what I'm doing?"
I'm a little apprehensive, to say the least. But Chris and I went out and bought workout clothes this evening, so I figure I'm halfway to fitness already! I plan to attend my first session tomorrow AM.
I took ezzie to the dentist the other day, and in between his massive kicky fits, the Dentist was able to take a brief gander at his chipped front teeth. The decay is now so close to the nerve that the right tooth was almost unsalvageable. His other front tooth is just beginning to chip. She said it looks like Ezra's teeth just didn't calcify enough while he was in the womb, and that would explain why there were brown spots on his teeth when they first grew in.
A few months ago, one of those spots chipped off. The other tooth is doing the same.
Soooo the dentist says she needs to put two resin crowns on those damaged teeth. They couldn't just pull them because he won't get his big boy teeth until he's 7 or 8, and if there's a big gap where his front teeth should be, then his next set of teeth will grow in all crooked and Austin-Powers-ish. (yugg)
In order to do this, they have to put Ezra under General Anesthesia. That's where the uneasy feelings come in... At first I was like, oh- that's totally fine it will be easier on everyone and it will be much less traumatizing for him this way rather than strapping him down to a board and having him breathe laughing gas or something. This way he won't remember a thing and will gently wake up in my arms. This way he won't have terrible memories of the dentist and refuse to go ever again.
But the closer it gets, the more butterflies I find in my tummy. The good thing is that they will be able to do all of this at the actual dentist's office where there are games and cartoons and puzzles and it feels really fun and comfortable. Normally, we would have to take him to a HOSPITAL to have this work done, but my lovely dentist's office actually brings in an anesthesiologist once a month so that it's less stressful on the kids and their families.
I know I will feel so much better when this is all done and my son will have whole teeth again, but the 'unknown' is outweighing all the positives at the moment. We go in on Thursday at 9:30 AM and Ezra isn't allowed to eat or drink anything (ANYTHING) before his appointment.
My son's favorite toy is a piece of crown molding.
I really love watching Chris and Ezra play together. Chris can take any mundane object and transform it into an outrageously fun gadget in the blink of an eye. Whenever we walk through the toy isles of Target, he is constantly pointing things out and saying, "I could totally make that" or "Why would you spend $30.00 on a plastic car track when kids could just roll their toy cars down a slanted piece of unused crown molding?"
OK, maybe he never said those exact words outloud, but that's exactly what he used to create Ezra's most favorite toy ever. We prop one end of a piece of crown molding up on Ezra's window seat, and put the other end on the floor, and Ezra will play in his room for an hour- just rolling one car after another down the slanted piece of varnished wood. This, apart from the train track Chris made him, is his favorite thing to play with. And it was free.
Then, last night, there was this:
I love the way Chris is teaching Ezra to play because it involves creativity and imagination... Ezra will grow up looking at things and figuring out how he could use them unconventionally. He will be able to entertain himself well even if he's not waist deep in a sea of primary colored Fisher Price toys.
Don't get me wrong, here. We buy our child toys like anyone else. I LOVE to shop for toys for him. I'm noticing that when I get 'alone time' and am perusing the isles of my favorite store, I always end up in the toy department and I almost certainly will spend MOST of my time there. And Ezra loves toys too. But the ones he is constantly returning to are the ones that didn't come in a box from a store, and I think that's just peachy.
The only down side to this whole set-up is that after Chris and Ezra have spent some alone time together, it's pretty much inevitable that the next day (when Ezra and I are hanging out again) he'll run up to me holding, like, a spoon and a lampshade and he'll push them into my hands with this expectant little look on his face and I'm all "Huh?" and he's all, "GRUNT! Uhhhh! Badadoo!" and then I have to call Chris and be like, "What the heck did you guys do last night that involved a spoon and a lampshade??
I had an excellent, oh-so-deliciously-mommy question put to me this morning. One of those questions that makes you pause and wander in your thoughts to the place where the baby-child is suddenly a grown man bursting through the front door- in town once more for the Holidays.
Here is the question: Imagine if your child were to grow and become an exact mirror-image of you. What things would you want to change about yourself now? For his benefit?
I love questions like these. I love this question in particular, because it gives me another angle, another set of eyes to examine myself with. Me reflected in my son. It helps me put a finger on what qualities I would want Ezra to possess and which qualities I wouldn't want him to touch with a 39 and a half foot pole.
Because, in reality, Ezra will mimic a lot of my behaviors as he grows and discovers who he is. Children are sponges. They learn by example FIRST. Long before the textbooks or tree-hugger cartoons can teach them a thing. (I'm looking at you, Snook...)
When Ezra is all growed up and standing face to face with me, I want to look at him and see a man that knows life is a journey. A journey without a map. No formulas. And all I ask is that he has on a good pair of athletic shoes. And maybe a light jacket in case a breeze picks up...
I find it so hard to honestly examine myself and then, in turn, to motivate myself to change the behaviors I don't want to see my child embrace. (Anyone feel me on this?) Because, really? Who's got the energy for all that? I've been telling myself to GO TO THE GROCERY STORE ALREADY FOR GOSH'S SAKE for three days now! I can't even conjure up the will power to buy food! How am I going to manage to become selfless and humble on top of that mounting pressure?
I want to be a more organized person. I want to be consistent. Less TV. (waste of time). I want to be more sociable and have people in our home more often. I need to get over my inability to call doctors and schedule appointments. I want to eat Healthy. Be a risk-taker. I want to have a heart for people around the world who are suffering and in need. I desire to be generous. I want to really be in love with Jesus.
When all is said and done, I know that I can't really make myself ANYTHING. Experiences and trials and God will have to do that for me. Time and perseverance will have to do that for me. It's a long journey with no sure outcome. But, I think, as long as Ezra can see me desiring change and continually learning and growing all the days of my life, he will have seen and inherited perhaps the most important quality he can posses:
A man who knows and loves the fact that he is (and will always be) a beautiful 'work in progress'.
I want to be the kind of parent that recognizes my child's strengths and giftings and calls them out of him by challenging and encouraging him in them. I feel like my parents did a really good job at that for me. Without oppressive pressure, without strings attatched, without any weird throw-backs for me and my ego, I want to help my son recognize and explore the things that excite him or that come naturally to him.
If he is good at catching balls or militant about cleaning up after himself or just plain FUNNY, I want him to know that I see that and acknowledge those things as important. I believe these little things are precious glimpses into these kid's personalities and inner-workings. The sooner I can recognize these things, the better. I think that's a huge part of the sacrifice of having children: even if I personally don't enjoy stacking blocks all day every day, or if playing 'make believe' with cars isn't quite as thrilling to me as it is to my son, I'm still willing to make time to do that if it means Ezra can feel more confident in himself and the things that really excite him.
I've noticed that Ezra is brave yet careful. He's sociable and very particular. He is set in his ways and things usually work out better when I just go with his method instead of forcing him to do things the way I think he should. He is silly and expressive and has a really good memory. He's a bit of a clean freak. He has a really long attention span and is very independent. He's a show-off and a goof ball. He plays a mean game of ring-around-the-rosy.
Gone (I hope) are the days of sons living mirror-image lives of their fathers; or parents pressuring their children into high paying jobs while claiming it's for their children's "security"... Agg! "Security" is often the reason people never see their dreams come true! I'm hoping this next generation of kids will feel less pressure to fit into molds and more freedom to live outside the box. I think raising kids that way is good for everyone, because if someone is doing what they feel they've been made to do, then they are going to do it well and bring excellence into their field. Doctors. Artists. Journalists. Deep Sea Divers. Everyone playing the part they were meant for.
I want to help Ezra find his part in this life. I know he's helping me find mine.
Ezra is generally a pretty mellow dude-monkey. Up until a couple of weeks ago, I'd never seen him go completely bonkers about anything. Sure, he has his fits and his melt-downs, but I could always tell that he was holding back a little- that he had more "oomph" that he was choosing not to exercise...
That was, until a couple of weeks ago.
Since being home from our Christmas travels, Ezra has been terrified of the bathtub. He used to love soaking in the tub with his bubbles and his rubber duckie. He would run to the tub and wait for the water to hurry up and fill his porcelain palace so that he could climb in and talk to the little upsidedown baby smiling at him from the shiny water spout. He would try to climb in before we could finish getting all his clothes off. He would play peek-a-boo with his own toes hiding under the bubbles.
But now, oh... now. When we even mention the word "bath" to him (now lovingly referred to as the 'B' Word in our home), he FREAKS OUT. "No! No! No! No? No? No!", he says as he runs to the nearest piece of furniture and tries to wedge himself behind it. After that, actually getting him in the tub is a miracle in itself, because he contorts and twists his body in ways that seem cat-like and it takes the strength and reassurance of both Chris and I to get his rubber band legs onto the water side of the tub. Once in, he screams and cries. He tries to escape. His bath has become a stressful event lasting no more than 45 seconds.
Wet. Lather. Rinse. REMOVE! REMOVE! FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS HOLY! REEEMOOOVE!!
I've read that this is not completely abnormal. That toddlers sometimes develop fears of things such as the bath, or the potty, or going to bed.
But still, I hate to see him like this. It breaks my heart. I again find myself desperately wishing he could find his words and tell me what it is that is scary to him. Every night as we're putting him to sleep, we pray that God would take away his fear and cause him to feel brave. We bathe him less often. We bathe with him. We try new toys, new tactics. Nothing helps. He's fine playing beside the tub, but the second we try to put him in the water, he loses it. So, I don't think it's the actual bathtub that's spooky to him, but the water itself.
I'm not sure what to do. I want to protect him from his fear, but even more than that, I want to help him conquer it.
I have contacted the Guinness Book Of World Records to report my achievement of the teensiest, tiniest, most infinitesimal pig tails EVER in the long history of mankind. Each pig tail weighed in at a whopping 4 strands of hair each.
I knew I wanted my wedding ring to be unique and special. When I was looking at rings in the magazines after Chris and I started talking about marriage, I was, um, how shall I say? Unimpressed. They all looked the same. I was up to my eyeballs in platinum and diamonds and princess settings. Anything that was even remotely unique was in the 5 digit price range- which was about 4 digits too high.
I decided I wanted to start looking at Antique stores. Chris and I drove down to a little Dutch town South of where we were living in CA at the time called Solvang one afternoon because they have a killer antique store that is packed with jewelry. And clocks. We scoured the cases all over this giant store, and I began to think I would never find "the ring" that I knew I wanted but still had no picture of in my head. We were just about to leave and go home- deflated and defeated- when I saw a glass case out of the corner of my eye that was marked "SALE". In passing, I glanced in the case- expecting to find nothing.
That's when I saw my beautiful ring. At first, I thought it was just one piece. I knew that I definitely wanted two separate rings (engagement and wedding band), but I liked this one so much that I just had to see it. The elderly woman bent behind the case and opened it and I tried to direct her shaky fingers towards the ring of my dreams without sounding too anxious.
"That one... Right there. No,no,no! To the left! No, no! MY left! No, the one behind that one...or in front I guess... No! YES! THAT one!"
She gently picked it up and placed it on a square of velvet on the counter. And as she laid it down, it split in two. It was two pieces afterall! I started gushing that this was the one I wanted-- that it was perfect and everything I was looking for and OH MY GOSH let's get it. can we can we can we pretty pleeeease??? The price was even less than we'd planned on paying. Chris looked at me like the spaz that I was and calmly suggested that I TRY IT ON FIRST.
It fit perfectly.
We were informed that it was designed and crafted in the 1920's- probably in England because of the sapphire/Diamond combo that is so common over there.
I practically floated out of the store and Chris was kind enough to let me "try it on" for another 5 minutes before he snatched it away and hid it from me-- I wasn't meant to have the ring for another couple of months.
**OK, now let's Fast Forward a bit to the week after our honeymoon...**
Chris was in Brazil.
I was working at the Italian restaurant across the street from our house.
And half of my beautiful ring was lying at the bottom of the restaurant's overflow drain that was tucked underneath the front cabinet.
Yes. I was showing my ring to one of the girls I worked with, and as I tried to gently slip it off my finger, the piece with the sapphire on it got stuck a little and then suddenly shot off my knuckle and landed on the floor of the restaurant. I saw it roll under the cabinet and I held my breath as everything went into slow-motion. In my gut I just knew it had gone down the drain under there. But we all desperately looked and looked around the area anyways. It was nowhere to be found.
In one of the most controlled moments of my life, I was able to stay calm. I kept saying, "It's just a ring. It's just a ring. It's just a ring." and I held my stuff together as we all tried to come up with a rescue plan.
It was the busiest time of night in the busiest little Italian Joint in town, so our resources and time were limited. But that didn't stop my amazing co-workers from coming together and giving all they had to help save my ring. The ladies offered emotional support as the guys scurried around and tried to figure out a way to get down that drain without ripping all the cabinets off the wall. They told everyone not to use the water from the sinks for fear it would sweep the ring away forever. They tried fishing down there with wire coat hangers- but they just couldn't see what they were doing and there was just no way it was going to work.
My manager, Bill, was the ring leader in the effort. (HA! no pun intended.) He jumped in his car and drove all the way to his neighbor's house to borrow his ShopVac. He was going to suck the ring out. When he returned, he tried to maneuver the vacuum hose down the drain and then he turned the thing on. WHHHIRRRR!!! This was no quiet ShopVac. It was LOUD. And the people in the restaurant began to look up from their romantic meals and ask each other, "What on earth is that god-awful sound??"
But that didn't stop Bill... Oh no! He tried and tried and tried, but it was no use. The vacuum wasn't sucking anything up. After about an hour at the attempt, I started to give up all hope. I was trying to figure out how in the world I was going to tell my husband of one week that I'd lost my precious ring already.
That's when Wonder Bill got the idea to take the hard plastic fitting off of the end of the vacuum hose and try to feed it down the drain that way instead.
He got it down there, and he flipped the switch. WHHIIIRRRRR!!!! This time, we immediately heard a LOT of stuff get sucked up into the vacuum. (I tried to type the noise it made, but it kept looking like the 'F' word. So, I'll spare you the sound effects...) We all crowded around the ShopVac as Bill opened it up to look inside the compartment.
Inside was the most foul looking, horrid smelling goo-ish substance that I have EVER SEEN IN MY LIFE. And I'm the mother of a toddler! Ezra's diapers couldn't hold a candle to this sludge that had been brewing in this sink drain for 10 years. Even this didn't slow Bill down, however. He slapped on a pair of rubber gloves and dove right into it.
Time stood still.
Almost immediately, he said, "Ahhh...what's this??"
Inside the sludgy-goo, he had found MY RING. He held it up so that I could see it from where I was sitting....
And that's when I started bawling like a little baby.
I resolve to understand the incredible weight and significance; the critical gravity and relevance of the calling that was placed on my life the moment that hospital room faded away and those brand new eyes locked on mine.
I want to finally get it.
I'm so very tired of feeling like staying at home with my son is somehow not good enough. I'm sick and tired of feeling like I must do more, more, more! if I want to amount to anything in this life. I resolve to finally drop that lie to the ground- the one that plays on REPEAT in my head all day (everyday)- and walk away from it once and for all. I resolve to stop picking it up and carrying it with me like an old, ratty stuffed animal. I resolve to never again let that feeling become my motivation. For ANYTHING.
Motherhood is far too difficult in and of itself to add the pressure of 'not enough' on top of it, you know? And seriously, if being someone's mother isn't enough, then what is? I'm ready to tackle this calling head on and put as much effort and care into it as if I had the fate of the whole world in my hands. To give my BEST to what's in front of me and stop unplugging and waiting for the 'next thing' to come along so I can move on and hope to feel more significant in some way. Because my significance was never manufactured by what I "do" or how well I do it. My strength is in my weaknesses and failings- where God can step in and take the credit and the glory for every breath that comes from these faint and tired lungs. My worth is there.
I resolve to be okay... to know my days with Ezra at home are worth more than any job could offer... and to know that I'm enough.
Yes, the news team has been busy... just look at that stunning graphic! Complete with icy wind sound effects!
It wouldn't be so annoying if they didn't insist on inserting this graphic (complete with sound effects) every 30 seconds or so in their broadcast. Every half minute, the weatherman looks directly into the camera with the intense, worried look in his eyes and says, "Ice Storm 2007!" Then, you guessed it: Cue 30 second graphic loop. It's like watching the news and a day time soap opera all in one.
So far it hasn't been terrible, but the roads are definitely non-driver-friendly at the moment. This isn't the kind of 'icy roads' I'm used to from growing up in the foothills of Tahoe, either. This is more like one big, giant ice skating rink- only, for cars! We ran out of fruit this morning and contemplated WALKING to the grocery store. (Ok, Chris contemplated it. I only gawked at him while he made the suggestion.) The only way I can see this being a somewhat sensible idea is if we owned a pair of ice skates. Seriously.
Ezra is napping soundly and Chris is also asleep out on the couch. I finally got the heater to work, so I'm beginning to warm up now.
If it hasn't become painfully obvious to you yet, I'M BORED.
I had this surge of creativity this morning, and I got the idea to pull Ezra's room together by creating a theme and deciding on a dominant color for his room. Right now it seems all clashy and crazy in there to me. Since I don't have the ability to go get the materials I would need for my great ideas, I'll just tell you all about them instead.
Proposed Theme: ROBOTS Proposed Dominant Color: DARK BROWN (cuz its my favorite color) Proposed Accent Color: BABY BLUE.
I'm going to glue together some cute felt robots and then attach them to dark brown material for drapes in his room. Then, I'm going to glue similar robots onto various sized canvases and hang them on the walls. (I'll probably paint some backgrounds on the canvas first... city buildings and stuff.) Next, I'm going to replace the red and white floral curtains on his closet with more of the dark brown material. (to match the window seat.)
So, we finished painting the living room and finally got around to hanging our pictures just before the Holidays began. I wish that I had taken some more 'before' pictures, but you get the general idea. This is the room that Ezra and I hang out it all day long and I love it because of all the sunlight that pours in through the windows. I've been trying to find a decent sofa cover for our couch the last couple of days, but I think I'm going to give up the search and stick with the ghetto fabric around the seat cushion for now. (The material for this couch was less like upholstery and more like PAPER, so there are big fat tears in the cushion that I'm attempting to disguise...)
I love my house.
We're about halfway done with the kitchen, so I'll post the 'before & after' shots of that eventually. You can see the other transformations here and here and here and *revised* here. Oh, and also, you can see how the house looked before we lived in it here.
The 'Mother of All Ice Storms' is supposedly moving in today, and I've heard it predicted that it could leave a nice, thick 3 inch layer of ice pack before all is said and done. The news has been warning people not to drive, and to stock up on food supplies and flash lights because of imminent power outages from the weight of the ice on power lines and trees and such. Chris and I are a bit skeptical because we've found Oklahoma Weathermen to be...um... a bit on the dramatic side thus far, ("it's the end of the world, we swear!") but if what they're saying is true, it could be a long week ahead. And you know what I realized today after talking to my mom? If the power goes out, SO DOES THE HEATER. What then? I wish we had a fireplace. I may resort to a bonfire in the bathtub made entirely of 'Elmo's World' videos. That would warm me in more ways than one.
So, I'm racking my brain trying to figure out ways to keep Ezra from going stir crazy these next few days. I don't want him to just watch hours and hours of his blessed new 'Cars' DVD. Any tips on how to keep the boredom away?
I really need your help.
The lights are beginning to flicker. Eeep! save meeeeeee!
Have I ever mentioned that I am not a big fan of air travel? I'm not. It makes me batty and slightly claustrophobic. And the thought of re-breathing other people's air is not such a selling point for me, either. You know those little baggies they give you in your seat pocket? I'VE USED THOSE BEFORE. MANY TIMES. (details omitted... your welcome very much.) I knew that all the flying was going to be the hardest part of this whole trip for me, and I was quite correct.
When we arrived at the airport to leave for our trip, we quickly realized that we'd forgotten Ezra's umbrella stroller. This meant that we had nothing tangible to strap him to, so he took it as an opportunity to run back and forth like a madman while Chris and I were attempting to check our 6 monster bags and get our boarding passes. The airport was JAM PACKED for the holidays and everyone was grumpy-wumpy. Before long, Ezra had received his first spanking and I had received my first dose of 'traveling with toddler' reality.
When we got to the gate, we attempted to pre-board. The guy checking boarding passes told us we had to CHECK OUR CARSEAT and hold Ezra on our laps because the flight was full. Then he used my eyelids to wipe his boots. We stammered that we had bought Ezra a separate seat and how DARE you rattle the nerves of two ticking time bombs (traveling with toddler). Only, we didn't say bomb. We're not that stupid. It only took a second to clear the matter up- we printed Ezra's boarding pass and stumbled onto the plane. He did pretty good for the flight, but he started acting like he didn't feel good after we'd been in the air awhile. (Like mother, like son.) Then, he yarfed. (yucky details omitted... your welcome very much again.) I stayed calm and cleaned up and managed to change his clothes without removing him from his carseat. To this day, I have NO idea how I did that. I mean, that's physically impossible, right? APPARENTLY NOT.
To sum it all up, it was a somewhat sucky suck of a flight.
Christmas was awesome, however, and it made the sucky flight experience fade into distant memory. Ezra got brilliant stuff- including a Thomas Ball Pit that he rarely came out of for the remaining weeks of the trip. The best part of Christmas, though, was just being with family. There's nothing better than watching Mo-Mar and Ezra walk down the driveway all bundled up and hand in hand while they take the "gah-GAY" for a walk. (gah-GAY = doggie. It seems my son speaks with a French accent.) It warms my heart to see Ezra run up to Grandma and Grandpa with open arms... or to watch him play for hours with Doo-Dad by the fireplace. That's good stuff.
I call this the 'post-holiday stupor'
Our trip to Atlanta was great too. Chris and I really enjoyed the time away. By the last night, though, we were ready to get home and see our boy. We missed him like crazy. Our flight got delayed out of Atlanta and we missed our connection in Phoenix by about 90 seconds, so it was a long day getting back to see him again. And you'll never guess what he was doing the first time we saw him after being away from him for so long. He was RUNNING RAMPANT THROUGH THE AIRPORT, of course! Its his new favorite past time! (Grrr.)
My time here in Atlanta so far has been nothing short of spectacularly wonderful (spectacularly fantastic, even!) and I cannot even begin to describe how much fun we are having here.
I've met some amazing new people and friends who challenge and encourage me just by being who they are, and I've been reminded of who I am and what my heart longs for in its deepest places.
I've sung and cheered my face off and am now struggling to hang on to the shred of a voice I have left in me. There are three more worship sessions I am meant to sing for and I dont know if I can do it at this point. It sounds like a frog hunkered down and died in my throat.
Also, since being here, I've eaten SUSHI for the first time ever. (Okay, well, I guess I ate in a SUSHI restaraunt. And, geesh, if you must know, I ordered chicken...)
We went down to a really cool part of Atlanta called Five Points and shopped around old vintage shops with the crazy kids from Leeland. I wore my hippie beanie so I'd fit right in.
I've laughed harder than I have for a long time and riden on an underground train.
I've been reminded of how majestic and powerful and wonderful and humble God is. That he loves me. Just the way I am.