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...of a new therapy

I woke up this morning and did what I do almost every morning in between the, oh, 5th and 6th snooze on my alarm when I finally tell myself that I need to actually start to wake up: I browsed facebook. I want to immediately sit up and pull my Bible off my nightstand, open it and with all alertness begin to meditate on the Word of God to start my day. But it's the alertness that eludes me. So, short of having my nespresso machine on my nightstand as well, I have to do something to make my brain catch up with my desires. And facebook is always there.

This morning, I began scrolling, like any other morning. I read headlines and intentionally like, love, or ha ha, friends' pictures and posts and largely pass right by videos. This is mostly due to the fact that my husband, Quinn, is usually still asleep next to me and the sound of a facebook video first thing in the morning could probably single handedly start  his day off on the wrong foot.  But this morning, a video caught my eye and I didn't need to click on it or hear any of the (I'm sure) crazy annoying background music that was chosen for this "stretchers gone wrong" montage.  I think it was titled something horrible like "Worst Stretcher Moments" or something like that. I immediately thought Why would I want to watch people who are already hurt getting hurt more by being manhandled on their stretcher?!? But I kept watching.

Some of it was pretty sad, I have to admit. No one seemed to be tragically hurt by any of the droppings or slippings. But the largest percentage of the montage was acually made up of football (soccer) videos. Moments after a player had been hurt on the field, the stretcher bearers run out on the pitch and get him on to their board. And then. THEN. As if they were trained to do this (I'm sure they were, actually), one of them grabs one end facing in and one of them grabs the other end facing out with their arms behind them, presumably so that they can run together off the field with the player faster than if they were both facing in. HOWEVER, there were about 10 instances of the carrier facing out, squatting down to pick up the end of the stretcher with the player's head and as they stand up, that players head gets smashed directly into that carriers's crotch. Sometimes this resulted in the carrier actually loosing his balance and falling back onto the injured player (sad), but mostly they just tried over and over again in a strange frenzy that left no one to figure out why this formation was just not working.

It's hard to describe it. It's pretty much a quintessential "you had to be there" or "you've got to see it for yourself". But for some weird reason it just got to me. I started laughing harder than I've laughed in a long time. Right there at 8:00 in the morning, in my bed, while Quinn was getting ready for work in the bathroom. I laughed so hard (that high pitched, can't catch your breath laughing) that tears filled my eyes. And as I laughed at this absurd video on facebook, I realized how unbelievably good it felt. How awake and alert it made me. Like, almost as invigorating as coffee! Almost. It felt positive and open and silly. It felt great.

Quinn wanted to know what was so funny. I showed him (with the disclaimer that, of course, I hated the ones where people might actually have been more hurt). He laughed, but not like me. This was an Anaka moment if there ever was one. Then the kids came in and I was smiling and I was ready to hop up and get them breakfast without feeling the drag of the bed pulling me into negativity because of my own, sweet children. Then I had my double shot latte and my day started with dropping one kid off at Mother's Day Out. I brought the other two home, schooled the kindergartener from 10:00-12:30 (with big breaks in there to talk about dramatic interpretations of reality and why they can be dangerous), left to teach a 45 minute Shakespeare class to very talkative 5th and 6th graders, came home, picked the little one up from MDO, tried to put him down for a nap at home, schooled the 1st grader from 2:30-5:30 and crawled to the couch a few minutes before we were supposed to be leaving for a dinner out with out community group. The little one got up from his "rest time" (he never actually slept), found me, and began berating me with the "can I have a snack question". I knew that we were about to leave for dinner, but he had been resting through normal snack time so I was conflicted. But I stayed silent. So he asked over, and over, and over. Until finally it got cute. And I got out my camera. And in his frustration and the absurdity of the situation, all I could do was laugh. And the laughing made me think of the stretcher video and I lost it again. The three year old was a bit upset with me for laughing (I don't really blame him). But, man, it helped a really long and tiring day that, under usual circumstances I would never have been able to do, get a little bit easier. And when Quinn came home a few minutes later, the almost seven year old helped me up off the couch and we loaded in the car for what ended up being a very late night out.

All of that to say: that's not normal for me. I don't usually make it that long and that well. The day was almost entirely free of temper tantrums (from me or the kids), naps, and throwing in the towel. I could possibly attribute that to many things. The absolute certainty is God's grace. But I think that God's grace today came in the form of a stretcher mishap video and a few good doses of laughter. It really might be the best medicine... or vitamin.

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