Predicaments and Ponderings Blog

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