Oh, Lord, thank You for the energy and focus to finish book number 24. Couldn’t go out to celebrate, though. What to do? Instead, Steve and I watched the Cubs’ 2016 World Series victory and snarfed take-out sundaes from Ivanhoe’s. OMG, thank You that despite the current crisis, we have a gazillion reasons to celebrate!
O Lord, everyone’s wearing masks and bumping elbows. No handshakes. No hugging allowed! OMG, You are the God who touched lepers. I’m so glad You and I don’t have to do the Wuhan shake.
No way, they said. It can’t happen, they said. But OMG, thank You that nothing could or can keep the Resurrection down!
O Lord, You remember when I couldn’t wait for my March birthday. January slogged along like, well, molasses in January. But February was short! Except during Leap Year, I had to wait a whole extra day.
Now, OMG, I see Leap Day as Your gift. BTW, couldn’t You add a few extra days … weeks … months before I turn another year older?
OMG, I thank You for forward leaps in technology. However, when You introduce me to my heavenly home, I pray its appliances won’t beep at me. That only You, not Google, can track my preferences and movements. And that the most technologically advanced task I will have to accomplish is closing a Ziploc bag.
(Note: My website host will be updating its server tomorrow. Don’t want to start the week without prayer, so here’s my early “OMG, It’s Monday! Prayer.”)
O Lord, You know I love writing books. Thank You I’ve been asked to write several for another cozy mystery series. But the sleuths are also gourmet bakers who create cream-filled eclairs, apple caramel pies, and Death By Chocolate cakes. OMG, these people are killing my diet!
OMG, sometimes gray Monday fades into gray Tuesday and Wednesday, which seem to fade into gray forever. Lord, did You go to Florida for the winter, too?
Then, ta-da! With one giant, neon-hued brushstroke, You paint Your love across the sky.
O my God, thank You for our seven grandchildren — a blessing beyond anything we could have imagined. As expected, we also have a granddog and a grandcat. But, OMG — does Your cosmic plan for us also include grandrats?
You’ve filled in the blank, haven’t you?
Whether newborn or nonagenarian, we humans believe certain conditions must be met before we can journey to Slumberland.
My grandchildren all have possessed highly personalized bedtime needs. Several have required “loveys” before “Waaaaaaa!” has turned to z-z-z, including stuffed animals, a slip and an orange.
Positioning also is important. I read of a toddler who rejected his crib. Instead, he slept atop his nightstand. I get that. My daughter often napped under my rocking chair.
Sometimes routine matters most. One grandson demanded we sing “ABC Song,” “Jesus Loves Me” and “Jingle Bells” every night. In that order. Otherwise, we would cause a monumental tear in his universe.
When little devils finally settle into angel mode, eyes closed and breathing peacefully, we’re ashamed we considered a bedtime exorcism.
Most adults, though, try to exorcise their own insomnia demons.
Of course, we’ve outgrown silly childhood rituals. …
If that were true, we wouldn’t check locks three times before retiring. Fiddle with the thermostat. Line up slippers.
If that were true, the bed-linen industry wouldn’t be making millions. We each require 26 pillows, placed just so. Also, our aptly named comforters.
Some, to their spouses’ dismay, must be swaddled or, more accurately, burrito-ed. Others substitute weighted blankets, gravity blankets and sensory compression blankets to achieve that huggy feeling.
Those names scare my sleep away. A gravity blanket sends my novel-writing mind zooming off on spaceships. A sensory compression bedsheet sounds like I’m sleeping in a hamburger press. As for a weighted blanket — I often throw off covers during the night. Smacking Hubby with a thirty-pound blanket might not help him sleep.
Some adults need visual/auditory stimulation on or off. I prefer that devices sleep elsewhere so buzzes and squeaks don’t keep me awake.
Superior sleeping habits don’t guarantee a peaceful night. Unlike babies, who rarely lie awake worrying about world peace, we adults embrace sleep-bashing topics the second our heads hit the pillows. I’ve counted sheep, only to worry about their welfare. Warm baths, listening to sea sounds, sleeping with an orange — nothing worked.
Even my prayers morphed into worries.
One night, I played an alphabet game learned in Bible school. I recalled God’s names and/or attributes that started with A, such as “Almighty” and “amazing.” Then, B: “blessed” and “beautiful.” Then C, and so on.
Before reaching G, I fell sound asleep.
Since then, I’ve prayed alphabet prayers many times.
Occasionally, my insomnia stretches from A to Z. Eventually, though, I doze off, knowing Someone bigger and better can manage the world.
And oranges stay in the fridge, where they belong.
Your Extraordinary Ordinary: How do you remedy insomnia?
O Lord, thank You for a mostly fun weekend. I’m not sure about Your policy on basketball. But OMG, I talk with You about everything. So maybe we can discuss whatever happened during the last minute of this game?