Praying Hands

Thirty-four days and counting.  

I'm trying to imagine what I will be like on April 14th, the night before surgery. Will I be calm and peaceful or will I be freaking out and weepy from fear?  Hard to say.

Our prayer group met tonight as we generally meet twice monthly on the 2nd and 4th Mondays.  Tonight we discussed moving it to only once a month and they were trying to decide what week to have it.  The second Monday of next month is April 14th and I asked if we could have it that night as it would be the night before my surgery.  Everyone was in enthusiastic agreement and Pastor talked about doing a laying on of hands that night.  That brought me incredible peace to know that the night before my surgery, I was going to have people praying for me specifically and with purpose.  There is something both humbling and blessed about being on the receiving end of that.  Though I have always found it a great honor to be able to pray for someone else, I have never had hands laid on me in prayer and I think having this the night before surgery is going to be a blessing that only God can give.

So, tonight, I wound up with a pissed off parent on my porch.  B, a six year old who lives down the road and who sometimes plays with my JJ was all upset because my twelve year old, Aaron, had thrown his backpack in a puddle.  So, here was B's dad, being very nice, I may add, stating that Aaron was bullying his son.  Aaron was there and I gave him a chance to explain and he said that B had been yelling at him when he was trying to talk to the man across the road, calling him stupid.  B's father said he could not image B doing that (are there really people out there who think their kids are angels?) and I casually remarked that I had heard B calling JJ stupid before when they were playing but it was something I let go because they are kids...and because personally, I find B to be a pain in the lower extremity, if you get my drift.  The kid drives me nuts.

So, I'm getting the dad smoothed over and I told Aaron that no matter what B had said to him, he was old enough to know better than to toss the kid's backpack in a puddle.  I had no plans on punishing Aaron for the offense, because when it comes to B, I totally understand being annoyed.  B's dad thanked me and told me that some of B's papers had gotten wet but that they would dry out okay and that's when it happened. 

Aaron snickered.

Anyone who knows a twelve year old boy, or has a twelve year old boy knows exactly what I'm talking about.  That sound. Not quite a snort and not quite a laugh.  He did it last week when I took them out to dinner and the waitress had on low rise jeans and had a tattoo on the small of her back and her shirt rode up a little.  The snicker.  We don't know why they do it.  They just do it.  They think it is funny, or embarrassing, or they get a nervous tick, who knows!  But he snickered.

He's now grounded for two days until the basement is cleaned.