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Twenty Twelve


The buzz word for 2012 seems to be order. A myriad of definitions come to mind when I think of the word “order”. Alphabetical order is the sequence of my student files at school, personal files at home, debit and membership cards in my wallet. When I place my order at a restaurant I expect to receive exactly what I ask for. That doesn’t mean that I will occasionally have the opportunity to suffer through whatever nonsense the “chef” or “barista” thought I should have instead of what I requested. When I was a little girl I would order my toys into different categories: large to small, large in the middle and tapering to small towards the ends, by shape, by color, etc. When we were kids, Cas and I created a game in the Dillard’s dressing room while mom would shop for eternities. We each had a quarter and there were other coins that we would divide up evenly. The object was to “flick” your quarter and hit your opponent’s larger coins first, then move on to the smaller ones. There was an order. If you aimed and contacted the wrong coin, then you forfeited your turn. There are varying line orders at school for different purposes. There’s a line order for traveling to the restroom, cafeteria, recess, switching classes. There’s a seating order for lunch and regular classroom activities. Order is my friend.

Personally, I love order. My heart flutters when I see a closet set in order. As I’m walking out to my Jeep, I feel confident and sure of myself when I reach into my purse and the first things I touch are my keys. I feel accomplished when my home is orderly and neat. I am powerful walking into a faculty meeting completely prepared with an updated planner and fresh bottle of iced water. Life makes sense when there is order, structure.

This year, the year of order, I will venture into a new decade in my life: I turn 30. If I remember correctly the last time I got excited about a birthday was when I turned 22. Even then I wasn’t exactly excited about it until I received the gift my parents presented: a Kimber 1911 Custom II .45 ACP (including the changeover equipment for .22). Apparently my mom had been adamant that I get a .22 for my 22nd birthday. She still has the picture of me with hands thrown up high, mouth agape when I tore into the wrapping paper on her couch that night. The other birthdays weren’t necessarily “depressing”, however I would have one reason or another to be less than eager to celebrate the beginning of a new year for me. Those reasons varied between wishing I had accomplished more in the previous 365 days, or just plain liking the sound of the number 27 rather than 28. I remember telling Kristine on more than one occasion how I think it’s ridiculous that women get upset over their birthday, and then later hope she wouldn’t remember me saying those things when she’d call or text her birthday wishes to me and I’d be gloomy.

Now that I’m standing on the threshold of entering a new decade I wonder if I will approach each birthday in my thirties the same as I did my twenties. If I have a plan and an order to my life, then wouldn’t it make sense that I anticipate each birthday, each succeeding year, with a smile and an air of expectancy? This year is already different.

-                   I joyfully entered 2012 watching my favorite man risk life and limb in the middle of the street all for the sake of a few smiles and wide eyes from our nephew and niece at the wonder of fireworks.

-                   I ordered myself to begin a nutrition plan organized by my most diligent brother in an effort to achieve what my lottery mentality has continued to fail me. I want to be happy with ME at thirty.

-                   Mikey and I have pledged to each other to maintain organization in our finances through daily diligence and seeking wisdom from those more experienced. Our purpose is to prove ourselves good stewards of little so we will have the capacity to manage much as the Lord continues to bless us.

Thus far my mantra for 2012 is “Make a plan that’s workable, then work through the planable.” I realize I am creating words with that mantra, but maybe giving myself permission to create is the outlet I’ve been searching for. 

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