God is everywhere, including my blog

Here I am, working away at my blog but not really telling anyone about it. I thought sooner or later someone might find it, but who knew it would be God? He is currently the only follower signed up to receive updates from my blog. (Shouldn’t I be the one, following God?) He never posts or comments but I know he is there. How like God to always leave me guessing as to whether or not I am in good graces. It is hard to tell if God is on my side or only watching me in a you-are-in-charge-of-your-own-destiny kind of way. Anyway, welcome God to my wandering blog.

This got me thinking what it would be like to be God. Would it be like creating a work of art and then sitting back, taking it all in, thinking about what you find works about the creation, and what you would do differently next time? Or would you constantly rework it, change little things, answer someone’s request, kick up a big storm? I don’t think I would be able to be as hands off as God the now seems to be about some things that happen here. When I make something (small things like potholders, not big things like galaxies) there is always things I wish I could change but often I worry that going in and trying to fix things will only make it worse. If I were playing God, I would start small. For starters, I would make chocolate the most nutritious food possible, one that we should eat several times a day to keep our bodies healthy. A little change that would truly make the world a better place to live. I think I could take a little lesson from my dad. When I was young, I would cringe when he would train our dog, but now I can see some advantages for this style in other situations. My father was old school when it came to dog training. When he was housebreaking our dog, Sam he would grab her by the scruff and drag her and push her nose into any mess that was found in the house and holler, Bad dog, No Sam. Then he would push her outside and leave her there for a while especially if she barked or whined. I think I would like to use that same technique with several people that have left big messes around our planet. I would start by grabbing George by the back of the neck: Bad George, No George and leave him in Iraq even if he whined.


My daughter playing with her wooden train set gave me another idea. I really appreciate that God lets us make our own decisions, but sometimes I think people need a little help in learning how to get along with others better. They need a little nudge to help them make the right decisions. Wouldn’t it be great to be able to police the world, just a little? For example, the guy driving right on someone’s tail (usually mine) or swerving in and out of traffic. I picture being able to reach down and pluck the car up with two fingers like my daughter does when a train section derails. I’d look at the culprit, shake my finger at him and put the car down in some inconvenient place to make sure he learned his lesson. Like on top of a building or up in a tree.


If God were in human form I think he/she is either a gay man or a woman but I lean towards a gay man because you’ve got to admit the overall design of the universe is pretty lavishly over the top. This planet is a beautiful work of art. If you doubt this, watch the BBC production Planet Earth.

Dec. 13th 2008
He’s ours. Every finger every toe. We passed court on December 12th. In the adoption world that translates to my baby being legally mine. I know so little about him and he is my son. I’ve seen his smile, never heard his cry. When Mikaela was born and I finally came out of my drug-induced shock about having had a c-section, I gave her a full inspection. I took off her little clothes and examined every inch, turning her over and touching her smooth skin. Temesgen will be nine months old by the time I get to do this.

Mikaela had her first sleep over at Aunt Barbara’s in preparation for Michael and I traveling to Ethiopia. After a brief cry of wanting to go home, she snuggled in with Aunt Barb and went to sleep. It was after 11pm so she probably passed out from exhaustion. And of course, she was up early. After spending a week with Barb where she gets to watch TV, eat junk food and stay up late, she may never want to come home.



It is 5am and I am typing this curled up on the couch. I love the early morning hours when it is quiet and peaceful.

That last sentence is an extreme romancing of the truth. It is quiet with the exception of the noises the cats are making as they eat plastic and whine to be fed and the dog’s snarfing noise as she licks her butt in her crate. Oh, and there is the hacking emphazema cough of my neighbor as he lets his dogs out and the upstairs snores coming from the damn husband. Oh the lovely sounds of morning. And still I love the early morning hours. I am sitting in front of the Christmas tree that has a mass of ornaments piled on it, heavier on the bottom where Mikaela can reach. In 16 days I will hold my son for the first time. Will I ever have a quiet morning again? Sometimes I think I must be crazy for taking this on. I feel so ill prepared in so many ways. I had so much stuff when Mikaela was born. For Temesgen I have a wooden riding giraffe that I bought at a garage sale for fifty cents. (It has become one of Mikaela’s favorite pets.)


I also bought him a blue knit hat, three pairs of socks and mittens. I have tried to convince Michael that Temesgen can wear Mikaela’s hand me downs for the first few years and it won’t make a difference. He won’t care if he is a girly man in pink in the beginning. Michael of course, makes a horrified face as though this will instantly zap the poor boy’s manhood and scar him for life. Okay, so I won’t bring out the dresses but really the purple flower power playsuit could be just fine! He will look like a flower child of the sixties. If my family would have gone along with the gender neutral clothing I wanted for Mikaela when she was born instead of the girly cutie clothes they bought, this wouldn’t be a problem. I am sure he will like the red glitter high tops that were Mikaela’s favorites. What does a baby really need? He will sleep with us so we know we don’t need to go the crib route that we tried for Mikaela in the beginning- the most expensive toy box ever. So, he needs diapers, bottles and love. Am I forgetting anything else? Bottles. There is a terrifying thought. `I breastfed Mikaela far longer than I thought possible! I can’t imagine getting up in the middle of the night and mixing formula (yuk) instead of rolling over and lifting my shirt. Oh, that’s where the damn husband comes in!! He got off easy with Mikaela and never even woke up when she did. This time things will be different. “Wake up, Michael, stop snoring. Your son would like a bottle!”