Under Enemy Fire*

Having just gotten dressed, in a pretty sun dress and lathered on my sunblock, I decided it was time for a cup of tea.  I walked out of my room into the sunlight and across the lawn towards the kitchen, thinking of the prospects the day held and the things I needed to get done.  With a spring in my step, a song in my heart and a smile on my face – today was going to be a good day.  Suddenly out of the blue, I felt it hit me on my right bare shoulder, a bullet hurtling through space, I was under enemy fire.  Ouch I yelled as I felt the wet warm blood course out, take cover.  Stop drop and roll!  Okay that’s for fires but it does have a place in these hostile war like situations.  The blood cooled down quickly, the stinging pain was still there, but wait it smelt funny, it didn’t have the iron make me wanna gag smell that generally accompanies blood.  No this had an ‘I want to gag’ smell make no mistake about that but from the eu de toilet range.  Yes odour the toilet – definitely a waste excrement.  As I gathered my wits about me and looked down at my shoulder, forcing my nasal passages to encounter this aroma more fully – I saw the mustard yellow colorant boardering on khaki green, the birds kept flying overhead and I thought – “is this really supposed to be good luck?”

God see's

I try start my days out by reading my bible and spending some time in prayer, the prayer part I battle with, but practice makes perfect right?

Last Friday was a day where I didn't have time for my morning quiet time, I might have slept late or had a "give me a few more minutes with my head on the pillow" moment, or had errands to complete around the house before I went out, I really cant remember which, knowing me it was probably the second one.

I got up and was getting ready, trying to figure out what to do with my hair, I looked in the mirror and thought "Good grief my hair is a mess" no amount of brushing was going to tame my thick bleach blonde tresses.  A ponytail wouldn't work because I 'gasp' need to retouch my highlights, so I opted for the half pony and styled my hair to hide the dark root re-growth.  Departing with the mirror with a final thought of "At least I dont need to look at me today - sorry for everyone else".  Bad hair day!

I was at the bank doing a transfer, the information lady came up to talk to my teller and then touched my hair and said "You have the most beautiful hair."

What I saw in the mirror that morning, was my reality, but someone else saw the same thing and had a prescribed a different reality to it.

This brief interaction immediately woke Gods voice in me with Him saying "I see you Justine and although you didn't 'meet with me this morning' I'm still here and I still see you through my eyes, not yours."

Junk and treasure*

A friend of mine recently had his mother move out of her flat into a retirement village.  She basically took her clothes and left, echoing the exit of a jilted lover who couldn’t get out of there fast enough.  In her hasty exit she left a lot of her ‘treasured’ possessions behind and you know what they say about the meaning of one mans treasure to another man.

As witness to the chaos that she left behind the clutter and rubbish kept for who knows what purpose (how many lidless tupperwear can one person keep?).  I’ve begun to examine my bounty of treasure, which I can identify as junk.  Stuff I’ve collected and kept from primary school, posters inside my cupboard (removed from the outside about 4 years ago) that no 24 year old girl should still be hanging onto, to further intensify this creep factor, I have a box FULL of Princess Diana Scrap books (about 6 of them) compiled by me from the age of 6 until about 16.  Its time to get rid of the junk!

I don’t use it and it will be of use to no one.  In throwing out my clutter I will be saving my family the terror of having to sort through my junk and throw it away themselves if I die.  I don’t have space for it and if I had to move to Tristan da Cunha I would not waste the money on shipping it with me.  Should this situation arise I’d tell my mom to throw it away, so I might as well save her the effort and do it myself.

I’m prepared enough to leave a sealed envelope with my email, banking, facebook details and request of songs I’d like to be sung at my funeral – I’ve never claimed to be normal, I know I’m odd.  So might as well limit the amount of stuff they need to sort through should the need to open that envelope arise!

Seeing how much junk other people live amongst is cathartic to propel you to get rid or yours!