Nothing riveting has happened today. I did get a pedicure with the youngest, Rylie, and my daughter-in-law, Haley, who invited us along while she used a gift certificate.

My pedicure didn’t turn out all that fabulous. I’ve decided that some nail techs don’t love it when you just order the Classic Pedicure. This lady flat out told me that my feet were in too bad of shape to get the lowest package on the tier. I waved her off. I’m just a classic (not deluxe) gal. No upgrade for me.

 

My two big toes look pretty decent. They’re a light blue in honor of the possibility that I’ve got a grandson growing in my sweet daughter-in-law’s belly. The other eight smaller toes, painted in Baby Takes a Vow-pink, are less impressive.

I think it was when the tech was painting these that she decided she’d make it known that she wasn’t enthused with my frugal girl package purchase. There’s just one light layer of pink on the eight baby toes. Extra paint is splotched on the back of one toe and between two others.

 

Enough about my toes. I can talk about anything, or nothing, but to cover important transpiring news I need to go back to precisely one week ago. Anybody who knows me knows that my love for chattering stops cold if I’m behind a microphone or on a platform. I was outfitted with both last Sunday.

 

Right before Christmas I was asked if I would speak on the topic of surrender to a ladies group in Beaumont, the last Sunday in January. That invitation to speak wrapped up an incredibly eventful year. 2020 started out with a one large checkbox: “January 26, Speak to the Westgate Ladies”. There was an unexpected lull thereafter.

My calendar squares were relatively emoty, save some random low key events, “Super Bowl Party”, “Career Day for Rylie”, and “Lunch with Alison”. (No offense to these guys.)

 

Last year there were constant flexibility and endurance tests. Last Sunday I suffered a good holy stretch as I spoke to a group of women, larger than I’m accustomed to. I'm ready for another workout, am I right? Just what am I supposed to be doing in 2020?

For the past three years I’ve worked on three books. Last year I finished the third one, we suffered a couple of tough losses, married off a kid, graduated a kid and I earned gray hair and wrinkles which I, in turn, have done my best to hide.

 

Last Monday and Tuesday were the first two days I could remember having a fresh slate and frankly I had no clue what to do about that. It was as if God had walked with me through awe-inspiring steep mountains and craggy canyons only to be seated on a bench right in the middle of nowhere. What to do?...

 

This past Wednesday a little road sign popped up prompting me that there is another attraction down the way from the roadside rest... And my toenails are painted for the occasion.

 

If you haven’t heard, Jason and I are going to be grandparents in July. We found out Wednesday that we’re going to be grandparents...to TWINS!

 

There’s one for each of us. (I hope my son and his wife and anybody else we’re supposed to share with isn’t reading this.) Just like that there’s a new kind of celebrating and planning...and praying. And I’ve got my name ready.

 

I’m going to be a Birdie!

 

Just like that I’ve got the fever...new purpose.

At the mall this morning a toddler trying to keep up with his mom leaned toward me and shouted Boo! And just like a good grandma I feigned terror for him. He gave a wild smile and carried on.

This afternoon, a girl riding in the back of her dad’s truck waved at Jason and I as if to say, “Hello, nice old people." Naturally, we waved back big enough to suggest we were sending gregarious greeting from our car to hers. I have a feeling that we could be good at this.

 

Or really, I have a feeling God is good at this.

 

Last night while dropping my daughter-in-law off at her house I got to spend a sweet minute with my son. He stood by my rolled down window and for sixty seconds it was just he and I and the stars hidden somewhere beyond the layer of hazy atmosphere. He was my boy again and I was his mama.

I’d barely driven down his street alone when I felt a presence beside me; one that reminded me that loss and change seldom come without God having prepared for something better down the road. It’s not that He owes us anything, He’s just that good.

 

I’ve got my toes painted for such an occasion. I’m feeling doubly blessed. Let the adventures with Birdie begin.

...no human mind has conceived the things God has prepared for those who love him... 1 Corinthians 2:9