There are two ways to think about leftovers: evidence of plenty or that which has been passed over. I have been feeling both this week.
Very small Keegan was never the kid who never got picked to be on a team at recess, at least not to my recollection (we all know how meaningless that is but still). This was in part because I did have friends, some of whom were sporty, and in part because I mostly just avoided being in that situation because sports are the worst. Anything more athletic than four-square was very much anathema to very small Keegan. And honestly still is. In other words, ‘that which has been passed over’ is not a new feeling to me but I have been blessed to have avoided it in that common scenario.
On the Thanksgiving front, of course, there were a great deal of leftovers in the former sense. Really a lot of mashed potatoes. Turkey living a second life in many forms. The pumpkin pie that I made and devoured altogether too much of. So many rolls. All of which is a great thing. To be provided for. To participate in having plenty.
There are a few things that I’ve been waiting for lately, and none of them have come to pass. Not in a not-happening kind of way, but in a (hopefully) not-yet kind of way. It’s unpleasant nonetheless and I’d much rather have a yes or a no than a who-knows but here we are. Still. Waiting. Other things seem to keep piling up behind those things but it’s been slower than molasses on this side.
Anyway. On to other things. It’s December. Christmas is practically here. Needless to say, I am pumped. There is a welcome, a comfort, in Christmas that invades me even when I’m feeling my least Christmasy. For that, I am very grateful. It is very easy for me to turn inwards, generally speaking, but it is doubly true in times like this when self-pity occupies an unfortunate proportion of my day. This season is the perfect antidote to selfishness–or, rather, it is the antidote and (as I said last week) I am imperfectly trying to be cured.
It’s no fun to be the dregs of mashed potato left over after a feast. But at the same time, I know that my God is a God of Plenty. I don’t believe that God is out there preventing me from getting a job because God wants me to do something else and it’s not the right time yet. I believe even less that God wants me to wait just for the sake of waiting, because it will build character or faith or something. What I do believe is that God is with me in waiting as God is with me in action; God is with me in times of plenty, when there is much left over, even as God is with me in times when I am left over, passed over, not yet chosen.
If I were a cat, I do not know if I would prefer to be an indoor cat or an outdoor cat. It partly depends on the indoor and the outdoor in question, I suppose. A nice house, friendly people, large spaces. Decent weather, interesting things, few predators. The real key, as any pet owner or parent of a human child could tell you, would be how well I was fed. Not needing an excessive amount of food, to be mindful of my cat health, but having plenty. Something delicious and timely.
I say this as a random tangent because I am very tired while writing but also because I’m considering the lilies of the field, if you know what I mean. The cats. Consider the cats. They always have food leftover in their bowl because someone cares for them. I don’t imagine that God is some great cosmic cat owner but at the very least, I’ve had some of that bread of life so I should be good. My cup runneth over and so on.
I won’t apologize for the above but I will acknowledge it as the ramblings of a lunatic. It is what it is. I should sleep more. I’d love to not work at Michaels with awful hours. Only time will tell.