order up.

Order is sexy to me. Clean, crisp, refined. Tidy. Organized. Purposeful. Intentional. Of sound mind.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy some crazy, too.

In fact, order requires chaos to even exist.

Life without Dad marches on down the line. Work goes on. Love goes on. Breathing goes on. Music goes on.

Play on, SoundMan in Heaven. Rock on, Daddy.

I’m down for the count with a bug. Lola, too. The physical stress of the last month has taken its toll. Sinking its sharpened teeth into my strength and leaving absolutely nothing left.

Mom said it: “I think grief is simply exhaustion.”

I think she’s right.

The joy I do find is wrapped in order— my weapon of choice against the war that beckons me daily.. to run into battle and slay dragons and giants and beasts of burden.

The war is real. But no one really lives in the real places anymore. Not even me. Glow screens and options and same-day delivery. Unplugged is just for a little while.

But when I start to feel lost, I go back to the grateful place— remembering and rejoicing and counting what I do have. Which is more Beautiful, more Abundant, more Generous— than anything I could possibly ask for.

A hot shower and a big bowl of hot, buttered scrambled eggs. Soft lounge clothes that feel like a hug. Brand new music to paint in my mind until the time and the space and the energy come back to me. The laying down of my terribly selfish will that suggests I am capable of anything besides recklessness. The giving in and letting go.

Thy will be done, Papa. I trust You with it all.

just do the next right thing.

Love you. mean it.