Dear God.

Can you just give me about 700 words to string together? I need them to make sense. Possibly inspire. And maybe even provoke a laugh or two?


Since I whispered that, I’ve sat here and stared at a blank page. Waiting for some kind of masterpiece to surface, and so far, this is the only thing that’s rattled around in my brain.

“Wonder if there’s any chance someone else might make dinner tonight? Probably not. Maybe we could eat out. Oh, that’s right – they make you pay for that. I guess I will just make spaghetti.”

Then I remembered that there’s a spaghetti splotch on the wall in the kitchen from the last time I made it.

But I did not proceed to jump up, grab a towel, and scrub, because I had more important things to do, like wait for a loud thunderbolt of brilliance to fill this page.

Thunderbolts just weren’t coming though, but there were other noises.

The dog barked at a dangerous flying bag outside. That’s Wilma for you – saving us from suspicious squirrels, flying wrappers, and the same neighbor who gets out of his car and goes into his house every single day.

Connor played four consecutive notes of Mary Had a Little Lamb on his clarinet. The rest of the song sounded like ibuprofen and strongly padded earbuds.

If I haven’t mentioned it, we are band people now that Connor’s in sixth grade. Not the kind of band people who enjoy nightly concerts, but the ones rock back and forth slowly with their hands over their ears watching as the twenty minutes of required practice time ticks on the clock.

Honestly, I know he will get better and I’m excited for all the band stuff to start. He’s already better than he was a few weeks ago – I think at least. We blocked most of it out, some things just hurt too much to remember.

All that noise, yet still no inspiration. The page loomed in front of me and that curser just blinked away. I watched it, sort of mesmerized, until my eyes started having floaters.

Blinking them away, I decided maybe some encouragement might help me. So, I looked up motivational memes, found a few recipes, and took a quiz about which Golden Girl I am – turns out I am Rose, and anyone who knows me would probably not find that surprising.

And then it struck – the thunderbolt I’d been praying for. Sometimes inspiration hurts.

With a throbbing foot, and a little bit of blood, I looked over my shoulder and saw a green bird quickly waddling into the kitchen. Yoda is an eclectus parrot who says three phrases.


“Good Barbeque!”

That’s his favorite phrase, and we think maybe he was a BBQ spokes-bird before we adopted him. They didn’t tell us much about him when we got him, just that Yoda is a man’s bird.

That means he just tolerates women when he must.

That’s right, friends. I have a sexist bird. And he is abusive too.

He gets mad – usually at my hair - and the only person in the family he ever bites is me. Yet he still melts my heart, because while I am mopping up blood from my ear, he looks right at me and says his other favorite phrase.

“MMMUAH! I love you.”

See. He’s sorry. He loves me. Then the cycle starts again.

That’s not really a column topic though, that’s just more material for therapy.

Perhaps, after 119 original columns, I’ve finally reached that week where I just don’t have anything. No life lesson, no funny story – nothing. Sometimes I pray, and God just gently says no.

And that’s okay.

Then again, sometimes it’s just about gathering up everything you’ve got around you, heaving it into a pile, and giving it your absolute best shot.

Even when you don’t feel like it. Even when your completely uninspired. Just get up and get it done.

It might not be your best work, in fact, it might be the worst yet. But at least the effort was made, and the job is done.

God really does answer prayer.