Fulton Sheen once said that hearing nuns' confessions was like being stoned to death with popcorn. I feel like that is what life is doing to me this summer. There is nothing majorly wrong in my life, but it seems like every time I turn around, something else is going just wrong enough. It started with the epic closet fall, which is still not completely cleaned up because of my *&$#@ frozen shoulder. We usually get our best schooling done in the summer, but between Therese's PT for her hamstring and my PT for my shoulder (plus doctor appointments, tests, summer dance all July, etc.), school just hasn't happened. Then, I was supposed to go to Ft. Worth for a week (this week, actually) to see Analisa, but because of my shoulder, I can't safely drive that far (when I drive, I have to "T-Rex" it with my left arm - it's basically stuck to my body). I was really looking forward to spending time with her, so that was a huge disappointment. I am guessing because of my shoulder and the horrendous heat, I have a headache almost every single day. That has put me behind in my work. Then today I woke up sick just two weeks before we are to leave for Estes Park. I am exhausted thinking about everything that has to be done before we can go - fix things for Jack (the dog), prepare our meals in advance, write up instructions for my mom, figure out what we need to take. It all just seems like too much right now.
Am I the only person who has a voice in her head constantly counting the ways in she fails every day? I can't seem to shut that voice up. Then I loathe myself for having and listening to that voice in the first place. Then I add that to my litany of failures. It's a vicious circle. I seriously can't wait for fall, even though it means a return to dance classes, debate, and drudgery.
ETA: Oh, yeah, and the dishwasher and the A/C are both malfunctioning. The two-year old A/C unit can't seem to keep up with the heat and the dishwasher just started short-cycling last night. Joy unconfined.
Some of you know how much I love Fr. Troy. He's one of the two major reasons I don't ever want to move (Mrs. Carol, the girls' dance teacher, is the other). I went to Confession on Saturday, and as usual the line was very long. Am I the only person who is very happy to see a long Confession line? If the crowds at Confession and Mass at St. John Vianney are any indication, the Catholic Church is thriving. In any case, I am, as ever, thanking God for Fr. Troy. My children will grow up loving Confession because of him. He has the ability to hone in on the underlying issue of whatever you tell him. He knows that whatever your sin, it's a symptom of something else. When he talked to me on Saturday, I knew that I was hearing Jesus. Believe me (and if you know me, you know this is true), I *know* how stupid that sounds. It's true, though. His voice was so kind and compassionate. He told me exactly what I needed to hear at that time (basically to let go of my control and give God's grace room to work (on/in this situation)). It's embarrassing, but I basically had to run out of the confessional crying (after absolution, of course).