As you well know, if you read these posts at all. There is never a dull moment at the Sproles House. It’s fine. Those little hiccups make us laugh, and we all know laughter is the cure-all, as my Mamaw used to say. Well, actually, Mamaw used to say, “Might as well smile. You got the same ole dirty britches to glad in that you got mad in.” What a woman of wisdom. Perhaps that’s where I captured my dry sense of humor.

At any rate, calamity seems to be the norm here, so we just roll with it. My biggest laugh of the week was before Bible Study. It seems my Bible study ladies always get the “best” of my antics. Anywho, I had asked our sweet Administrative Assistant at the church if she would make copies for me. She agreed, so when I had everything laid out on the table for Bible Study, I headed to the elevator and the church office.

I pushed the button. The door opened, and I walked in. It closed, and I stood there. And stood there. And stood there before I realized…duhh, push the button. The darn thing won’t elevate if you don’t push the button.

It’s a good thing we don’t have cameras inside the elevator. They would have captured me, throwing my hands up, then lying my head against the door, laughing hysterically. (So embarrassing.) Like a champ, I pushed the button, and when I got off the elevator and went into the office, I took a Peter Pan stance.

“I think we need a new elevator. Can they add that to our building campaign?” Poor Ruth’s mouth dropped open.

“Is there something wrong with the elevator?”

“Oh, yeah! For sure. It can’t read my mind. I walked in and stood there for five minutes, and it never moved. It can’t read my mind.”

Well, we both had a good chuckle, and I had to wonder where my mind had gone since I rolled over the 65 mark and hit a few after that. I mean, seriously, my head used to work great. Somewhere along the line, God must have thought, “It’s Cindy. Let’s mess with her. It could be fun.” Okay, not really, but people blame Him for far worse. Let Him have a little fun, right?

I’m continually coming in contact with my aging conflicts. It’s like I went to bed a-okay one night and woke up the next morning, decrepit and in a time warp. Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’m in great health, but it’s those little things.

For example, I’ve dealt with a learning disability all my life. School was horrible for me. I hated it. Back in my day, there was no special education or Americans with Disabilities Act. There was no peer-tutoring or additional help. No additional time given for reading or test taking. You took a test and did what you could do, pass or fail. Thank goodness I managed to maintain a solid B average, but let me tell you. School was tough.

By the time I got to high school, I’d learned some workarounds that helped me. I had a few teachers I could go to privately and ask if I could come to class early to start the test. I was willing to sit by the teacher's desk. Some said yes, others said no.

Writing was always the place I could let my imagination fly. The disability wasn’t a problem. It didn’t matter what hit the page, just so it made some sort of sense. So, I did that. A lot. I had notebooks full of things I’d written. For the record, I was lousy at poetry. I tried. Really wanted to do it, but nope. However, I excelled at parody. I was the best at rewriting songs. I suppose that’s where my humor could shine. My head always seemed to function well in the writing world. To that end, I probably shouldn’t be able to write a novel, but God’s sneaky little way of proving me worthy allowed me the creativity and ability to pen a novel and to pen it with excellence.

There were friends I went to school with who always took first place. I was a consistent 2^nd place. If they made an A in English, I made a B. In the band, if my friend achieved first clarinet, I got second. In fact, in track, my coach nick-named me Consistently Second Cindy. Yet despite that title, he felt the need to assign me to the last leg of the mile relay. Why would you assign a consistently second-place person, the last leg, the supposedly fastest leg, of the mile relay? Maybe he saw potential. Or maybe he just wanted me to hold true to the name.

Our track team qualified for the regional finals in my senior year. Once again, the coach assigned me the last leg of the mile relay. We needed that race to break the tie we were in with another school. I wanted to throw up, but the coach grabbed me by the arm, slung me onto the track, and said, “Don’t you drop that baton. Oh, and run like hell!”

I got lucky to draw lane two on the inside, but right next to me was the girl who always made me SECOND PLACE. Allison.

Allison had it all. She was beautiful, a cheerleader, with long black hair that looked like a horse’s mane when she zipped past me (every single time). The thing was, she was super sweet off the track, but once she stepped on the track, the girl turned into a monster. Her goal was college track. Mine was simply survival. So, as we took our stance to wait on the oncoming runners, she flung her hair over her shoulder, winked, and blew a massive bubble. Double Bubble was the gum of choice in those days, and her mouth was loaded with a wad the size of my fist. (Okay, maybe not that big, but you get what I mean.)

Our third leg runners came in neck and neck, and I stepped off, getting a start, arm extended behind me, wishing that wad of gum Allison had in her mouth was in my palm to stick the baton tight. The coach’s words/threat, “Don’t drop the baton,” echoed in my head. My runner slapped the metal stick tight into my hand, and I took hold, then ran with all I had.

As usual, Allison breezed past me, hair flowing like some slow-motion movie actress running on a beach. I don’t know what it was about that night, but my head was playing the Hokey-Pokey song. Go figure. It couldn’t have been something like, “We are the Champions…” Oh, no, it was, “Do the hokey pokey and turn yourself around…” Who seriously thinks of that song in the midst of a mile relay? Apparently, me. Anyway, for some reason, there was no pressure on me. Even though I knew we needed to win this race, I was like, “Okee doakee. Do the hokey pokey and turn yourself around…”

We rounded the fourth turn, and into the home stretch, and when I glanced to my side, the coach was running like a wildman along the fence. “You got it, Cindy. You got it. Run your guts out.”

I remember smiling and thinking, “You put your right foot in. You put your right foot out.” And I do recall my chest aching for air. Who knows where I was, but when I came back into reality, I heard the coach screaming, “Lean. Lean.” So, I did. The next thing I knew, my teammates were yelling and slapping me on the back. I had to ask, “What’s the deal?”

I glanced over my shoulder, and Allison walked slowly off the track. Now, either she got cocky and overconfident, or God gave me wings on my feet. But for once in my life, Consistently Second Cindy, was first. It was the one and only time, but it was a sweet revenge.

There were friends who could write amazing, heartfelt poetry, and now, as adults, they have self-published their work. Nothing wrong with that at all. It’s a self-made success, but I chose not to self-publish. I turned to God and said, “Look, I have the ideas, but I don’t have the skill.” His response to me was, “Then learn. You’re smarter than you give yourself credit. Besides, I’ll walk the path with you.”

Ten years later, the girl with the learning disability’s first novel hit the stands. Traditionally published and available in bookstores across the country, the book is still in the top 25 of the publisher’s backlist. Not only did God walk with me through the process, but He also blessed the outcome. Who could ask for more?

I guess as my knees creak and crack and I get a little ditzy, it doesn’t change the fact that in God’s eyes, I’m still perfect. I do occasionally want to ask Him if He’s sure, but He continually reminds me that I am His daughter and every child is beautiful and perfect to their parents.

There’s something to be said for God’s gift of humor. I do think He thought it would be fun to make mine a little wacky, but then He introduced a few friends into my life who share that same odd sense of humor. So, life is good. Balanced.

The key to this aging thing is keeping a joyful attitude. It’s still telling silly jokes, still singing loud and off-key. It’s still standing in the elevator waiting for the thing to just telepathically read my mind and take me to the second floor. There are definitely a few good belly laughs in my antics for my Heavenly Father. I’m sure He enjoys my goofs as much as I enjoy my sons when they’re silly.

For those times when I grow frustrated because my joints ache or I forget what I walked into a room for, I know that my Abba Father walks with me. He probably turns the heating pad on during the night when I’m sleeping restlessly because of that knee. After all, we are all fearfully and wonderfully made. That means, despite our aging moments, we are all worthy. All accepted and adopted into His household. And isn’t that a wonderful thing?

As for my writing. Well, how blessed am I that God has gifted me with a strong talent, and how proud He must be when I use it to His glory. Oh, and about that win on the track that night. It was a fluke. To that, I press my fingers on my forehead, concentrate really hard, and say, “Elevator. Second Floor, please!” And then I wait.

Photo 1 – Image by Ryan McGuire from Pixabay ||  Photo 2 – Image by Kai Sender from Pixabay || Photo 3 – cindysproles.com  ||Photo 4 – Microsoft CoPilot AI  ||Photo 5 – cindysproles.com

It began on the morning of January 8. I woke up to an email from myself. Yes, I emailed myself. Go figure, or at least that’s what I said when I saw the email. And then I noticed it was from my website. What? The next words from my mouth—“Oh, crud bucket!”

Did you even know crud bucket was a thing? Well, if not, join us in the Sproles household for a few days, and you’ll quickly learn we don’t curse when something goes wrong. We…mountain curse. Crud bucket. Tomato squarsh (yes, squarsh – ‘cuz that’s what my grandmother used to say). Fiddle dee snot, and there are assorted variations of other words, but I digress. Just note that none are foul/fowl. So, I messed up. Last week I started a blog post. This blog post and I typed in WHAT I THOUGHT was the right day, but to my dismay, it was a typo. So, on January 8, my website published an empty blog post. Well, sorta empty. It had a photo of a giant inflatable Nutcracker. What I’m saying here is that over 1000 readers received a blank – almost blank email from me today. Including me. Remember, I emailed myself. Oh, sigh. The things we do as aging catches up to us.

It continued when Chase came home from work, giggling. When he giggles, his voice rises a notch and gets squeaky, which makes us laugh. Anywho. I asked. “What’s so funny?”

“I messed up the road sign at work today.” He began to stutter. “Well, I…I…caught it but…”

“But what?” I asked.

“I was trying to spell oranges, and well, I messed up. I put orgy.”

I spit Coke across the living room floor. The prince and I burst into laughter. “But I caught it. I fixed it.”

“Oh, law, I hope so.” We wondered if we needed to drive to Ingles and double-check the road sign.

Having realized that whopper of a mistake, I realized emailing an empty blog post rated low on the embarrassment pole. Well, sorta. Because things just keep cropping up or down. I thought Chase had the blooper of the day until the prince and I went to our grand’s middle school basketball game. It got worse. Not the game… well, they got beat 48-8, so it couldn’t have gotten much worse for the kids. But our son and DIL were sitting at the top of the bleachers. I stood at the bottom, dreading the climb to the top because it’s hard when you have neuropathy in your feet. You don’t always feel where your feet are. Add on that I have no equilibrium from the brain surgeries I had in 2017. Climbing Mount Bleacher wasn’t exciting.

But I made it fine. We watched the game, and then when it was over, we started the thousand-mile descent. Well, okay…maybe it wasn’t a thousand miles. More like thirty steps, but I’m allowed to share what it looked like through my eyes, and a thousand miles was probably too short.

I went down about seven or eight steps, stopped, and waited for the prince to pass me so I could put a hand on his shoulder for balance. I did great until the last step. One step from the gym floor. That was it. One step. I let go of Tim’s shoulder and, with all the self-confidence I’d mustered coming down, I stepped. My ankles buckled, and life went into s-l-o-w m-o-t-i-o-n. My arms flailed, my feet easily touched my forehead (maybe that’s a stretch, but accept creative liberty here), and I folded into a perfect U before my butt hit the gym floor.

Now, I’m sure it was comical, but here’s what got me. There were fifteen or twenty people sitting next to where I fell, and not one of them offered to help. My head even banged against a woman’s knee. HELLO! Old lady on the floor! A man from several feet away rushed over to help Tim get me up. What’s the world come to? I do rest assured that I am on every one of their twenty or so phones. So, if you see me falling in slow motion on Facebook, TikTok, or Instagram, please tag me. I’d like to view the incident from a comical standpoint. To that, I say...tomato squarsh!

Okay, so Chase, in my mind, was knocked out of the blooper first place, though I’m sure he keeps that spot, according to any cars that passed by the “orgy” sign on Wednesday. Ingles probably had a run of patrons that day.  

All right. Chase wins!

All that leads you up to the empty post.

So, since he was little, Chase has loved Christmas. He loves Marvel Comics, too, thanks to the prince, but Christmas is our eyesore. When you drive by our house, it’s like passing by the Griswold’s’ house. There are Christmas blowups everywhere.

Before the days of blowups, our front fence and house had tons of lights, albeit they were poorly installed; we’ve always stood out in the neighborhood. The prince and I never complained because lighting the house up at Christmas gave Chase a real thrill. 

We enjoyed that he enjoyed decorating.

Then came the days of Christmas blowups.

 At first, they were basic—a snowman or a nutcracker. We had the six-foot nutcracker in the front yard. Stand him in the yard, plug him in, and he stood tall, saluting the cars that passed by. My neighbor called once, laughing hysterically. “Cindy, look outside at your nutcracker soldier.” I opened the door to find my nutcracker, who saluted with one hand, using his free hand to do pushups in the yard. The wind had blown him forward, and he lay face down on the ground with the free hand extended, doing pushups as his fan tried to straighten him back to standing. I wondered why cars were driving by tooting their horns. Our nutcracker looked like he was doing military pushups in the front yard. Anyway, you get the drift.

Every Christmas, it’s a real challenge to keep Chase from buying Christmas inflatables. At one point, we had ten in our yard. We have since issued the Buy-One-Get-Rid-of-One ultimatum, and it’s slowing his obsession. This year, when we went to Lowe's and Home Depot, the inflatables were not only as big as our house in some cases, but the cost had rocketed to $500 or more. Even Chase choked and coughed, so I thought we’d actually miss a year of purchasing yet another gaudy inflatable. Until we drove to Johnson City to enjoy a meal out.

On the way home, the prince said he’d like to stop at Home Depot (since he is the king of Ryobi tools, he needed a new battery). As we pulled into the parking lot, a huge sign swayed in the wind. 75% off all Christmas Décor.  Chase nearly came out of his seatbelt. I just leaned against the window and hoped there were no inflatables.

All the way into the store, Chase jabbered about a huge sale and that it was the perfect time to purchase a new addition for his collection. We walked into the store, and Tim took an immediate left to the Ryobi tools (the coward), while Chase and I made a right to the Christmas décor.

To my delight, the only thing left on the shelf was several bottles of pine spray for that wintery scent of Christmas tree.

“Oh, shoot, Chaser. No decorations. Well, there’s next year. You had a nice display this year,” I said. I could see the smile on his face droop. “Maybe Kingsport’s store still has some online.”

To that, I felt a sigh of relief, and we headed to find Tim. I needed to run to the restroom, so I left Tim and Chase sorting through the vast array of green tools. When I came back, they were in the Christmas décor where all the empty shelves were. The prince, of all people, located the ONLY Christmas inflatable in the entire store. It was boxed on the floor at the end of the aisle. Chase stood smiling from ear to ear. “It’s on sale, Mom!”

Tim leaned toward me to whisper, “It was $199.99, and we nearly missed it. It’s $47.87.” What do you say to a sale like that? Chase snatched the huge box up and heaved it onto his shoulder. “It’s mine. All mine!” He reminded me of Daffy Duck rolling around in Aladdin’s gold. “It’s mine. All mine.” (evil laugh)

I glanced at Tim. “Oh, no. Olaf!” The prince just chuckled. Don’t let him fool you. That innocent smile will get you every time. He’s sneaky!

So, Chase paid, picked up his purchase, and pranced out of Home Depot like he’d won the lottery. And what do I have to look forward to next Christmas? A giant Olaf from Frozen. All I could think of was, “Olaf! Oh, no!”

Don’t get me wrong. I know Chase loves the inflatables, and honestly, I say very little when he drags them out and plugs them in. After all, he pays the power bill! But it brings Chase great joy. Our home may look like the Griswolds, a bit tacky, but it is fun to watch Chase walk outside at night and observe his creation. He is proud.

It made me think about the pride we place in the things we do. When I teach at writers' conferences, one thing I tell writers is to take pride in their work. That doesn’t mean being prideful or bragging, but it means doing your best. Put forth a good effort. It doesn’t matter if someone else thinks your work isn’t clean and neat. The effort we put forth is what our Father in Heaven looks at. Perfection isn’t what He seeks. Instead, it’s the desire to serve, the love of doing what He has gifted us to do.

Our approval shouldn’t come from earthly people, but from the Father who has given us a touch of His creativity. Our yard may look a bit tacky, but when cars drive past, they always slow down to take a look. Chase’s work only has to convey the joy of the gift. He’s done all he can do to make his work the very best it can be, and that is what pleases the Father—our best. Olaf or not. Our best, be it perfect in the eyes of others or not, is what gives great glory to God.

That said, one last blooper. This morning, our ladies' Bible study cranked back up. Before class, one of the ladies asked if she could say something. So, I obliged her the opportunity, and she began to tell us about some people trying to scam her on the phone and how none of our ladies should ever give out personal information. It was a good thing to share, and I backed her up on that little announcement. In the meantime, I had passed around a notebook for the ladies to sign. I led prayer, gave a few opening remarks, and then said, “I’ve passed around a notebook. Please be sure to write your name, email address, and social security number down.” The entire room burst into laughter. “No..no. I don’t want your information. I mean, I do want your information, but not your social security number. Oh, for Pete’s sake.” A more perfect remark couldn’t have followed an announcement about being careful of scams.

As my Mamaw used to say, “You missed every sheep pile and found the cow piles.” I doubt my escapades will outdo Chase’s sign blooper this week, but I made a gallant effort.

So, I thought I’d close with today’s evening prayer.

“Lord, I know you want me to always do my best at all I do, but I don’t think You intended that to be grabbing my Bible study ladies’ social security numbers. Besides, You’re a numbers guy. You already got them on file. You don’t need my help. But Lord, (I smiled a real toothy grin right here). I did my best!”

Photo 1- Image by Tumisu from Pixabay. Photo 2 –Image by K Lonsford from Pixabay. Photo 3 &4 –  cindysproles.com