JoKars Wild

Rough night, rough season. If you read my previous post, I am sorry. All of it is true, but who wants to read depressing stuff? Who wants to know the truth? It’s not good for business.

That’s probably my hardest thing…always being “on”. Always ready with a smile, but inside I am screaming, “I am drowning.”

Wallowing in the mud gets us nowhere though. Worry, anger result in nothing. There is no fruit in it.

God says to “consider it pure joy when you face trials of many kinds”. I am trying my best to do that. I am trying to choose joy, not because I am hiding, but because it doesn’t do anyone any good for me to be angry and upset. I can’t walk away. I can’t quit. That is just the truth of it. So I better make the most of it.

I am choosing to do the best job I can. I am choosing to enjoy the few precious moments I get with my son everyday. I am choosing to take it one moment at a time. I am choosing to rely on God. Is there any other way?

Somewhere along the line something has gone terribly wrong. And now all the shit hits the fan with the comment,

 ”Ever have one of those days where you wish you had died in your sleep last night. Welcome to my tuesday.” – Joe Becker via Facebook.

It started as a simple plan, a dream. Not my dream, but a dream. He wanted his own business, wanted a family business. He said he knew how to do it, make it work. I believed in him. I wanted to support him.

My part? I knew coffee. So I would run the coffee side of it and teach everyone else how to make coffee as well. I would only have to work a few hours a day. First I would teach my daughter then everyone would learn. Also, we would hire someone within a few months because he knew how to make it work. That didn’t exactly happen.

“Hey, where’s the old man?”

“I don’t know.”

 He was supposed to be back a couple of hours ago, but he hasn’t bothered calling. I have no clue where he is.

“I was supposed to get a call about this book two months ago, but no one has called me,” she says nastily to me.

 Hmm, no mention of the book in our system, but the book is on my paid shelf. Why would it be here and not be in the system? Why is there no note? I know nothing. I give her the book and smile. Trying my best to act like I have a f****ing clue. Again, I take the heat for someone else’s mistake.

“There is no price on this. Do you just expect people to hand stuff to you all day asking for the price?”

I look it up with a smile. I have tried to get everything priced, but the price gun ran out a while back. I don’t have a way to get more stickers. I don’t have the time to make sure everything is priced while making coffee.

Phone’s ringing. Man, I hate answering the phone. I never can understand what people are asking me.

“Yeah, this is ____. Did you get my e-mail?”

“Yeah, Joe was going to follow-up with you. I guess he didn’t yet.”

He is refusing to finish up some work for us until he gets paid. My stomach churns. I want to vomit. Keep smiling.

“Mom, we don’t have any milk. Nehemiah is crying.”

I text back that I will have someone bring some home when they can. I have no idea if that will happen.

“I need an iced almond milk latte.”

I look in the fridge and notice there is no almond milk. My assistant must have finished it off and forgot to tell me. I can’t get more though since I am the only one there. I apologize. Again, I look like an idiot.

I am so hungry and tired. My girls are asking me for food. I have none to give. I tell them we will get some soon. It has been seven hours since I last ate. I cave and share a cookie with them.

“Mom, we don’t have any water.”

“Yeah, I know. They shut it off because we didn’t pay the bill. Just make do. Don’t flush.”

This was my Tuesday. I worked 11 hours by myself. Oh, yeah, and my husband…he wants to die in his sleep all because I opened a savings account in my name in order to help us save a few pennies from the tips I make. Thanks, honey, thanks for taking care of things.

Yeah, the shit has hit the fan.

I’m the one here day in, day out, picking up the pieces, cleaning the shit. I’m the one always supporting, giving a smile. It’s time for someone else to clean shit. I’m done.

But where I am done. God remains. Steadfast, true. I don’t know how, I don’t know when, but God will provide a way. The Lord inhabits the praises of his people, and I am singing his praises. God, you are good.

When I was a teenager, my mom was often very angry and frustrated. She was mostly mad that we treated her like a slave. She was mad that we would leave our cup next to the sink and not take the time to put it in the empty dishwasher. She was mad that we didn’t appreciate her. We would tell her we appreciated her but it didn’t matter.

I think I understand now why.

Actions speak louder than words.

When my daughter comes in after being home most of the afternoon with nothing to do, and I have just spent the last 30 minutes washing dishes just so I could start making dinner, and she asks so sweetly, “Is there anything I can do to help?”, I want to scream and say, “Yeah, you could have done the dishes.”

I spend a good portion of my day maintaining stuff…mostly other people’s stuff. For the most part, I don’t mind. I enjoy taking care of my family, just as my mom did. But what I don’t enjoy is having to turn a sock that is so stiff and dirty from over wear right side out just so that it can be washed properly. I have told my kids time and time again, “Turn your clothes right side out before you put them in the laundry”, but my words fall on deaf ears. Instead I get, “Thank you for the yummy dinner.” Not, “Can I do the dishes?”

And then there is the stuff. Clothes, toys, papers …stuff. It seems that my days are consumed with sorting, organizing, cleaning stuff. I don’t have the authority to toss it, but apparently only the authority to sort, organize and clean.

I asked my daughter once if there was anything that she thought I was obsessed with. She responded with, “Yeah, cleaning.”

She’s right. I am obsessed with hoping to find a place of solitude, a place that isn’t overwhelmed with junk, clutter, crap. Obsessed with finding a clean place. Yet, I can’t seem to find that place. You have no idea how much this bothers me. I just want to be able to relax, to be in a peaceful, clean place. Does such a place exists? I thought the RV would be such a place. Boy, was I wrong. I thought getting rid of so much stuff would help, but the cycle continues on.

My mom’s place is like that. Always clean. Always free from the junk, clutter, crap. Thank you, Mom, for taking care of us all those years and cleaning up our stuff and putting our cups in the dishwasher. I know that means nothing now. But thank you anyway.

Back on May 1st, the day we moved to Prineville, we also got a goat. He was a gift for our 10-year-old son, Elijah, whose birthday was the week before. Blackjack was extremely loved and cared for. In many ways, he was like a dog. We would lead him around the yard on a leash. At first we kept him in a kennel in the house, but after a while made a nice place for him in the barn.

This last Saturday, July 2nd, as I was getting ready to close up the Book & Bean, I got a call from Papa Joe that Blackjack had been shot with a BB gun and I needed to get home and take him to the vet. Joe was out enjoying his first afternoon off since we bought the store. Josiah was home with the boys. The girls and I were at the store.

Since it was a holiday day weekend, it took several hours for us to figure out what to do with Blackjack. All the vets I called were gone for the weekend or they didn’t see goats. During that time we were able to discover many things. One, the bleeding was coming from a half inch gash in his back. Also, we found at least 5 wounds from a BB gun. And, a seven-year-old neighbor boy had taken a loaded gun and used Blackjack as his target. His aunt, who was not there when it happened, was a vet tech.

The aunt was great. She got us into a vet, attended to Blackjack’s care, and paid for all expenses. Blackjack had an x-ray and we found two BBs were still in him. Also, the gash needed several stitches. We were sent home with pain meds and instructions on how to give his antibiotics.

Over the next few days, Blackjack was lively. Other than his shaved areas, he looked great and healthy.

On July 5th, I noticed that Blackjack just didn’t seem right. He was peeing excessively and not eating. He also was rather lethargic. I had the aunt come and check him out. We forced him to swallow some water, and decided to check on him in the morning.

This morning, Blackjack was up, but he had vomited. I called Joe and had him get an appointment with the vet. It wasn’t till 3:30 that afternoon. It was 8:30 am. I decided to put him in a cool spot in the shade with some fresh water and come back and check on him later.

At 9:45 am, I went and checked on Blackjack, and he was dead.

I don’t know why he died. Maybe it was an adverse reaction to the antibiotics. Maybe it was something he ate. But it is my very uneducated belief that he died of lead poisoning from the BBs.

His death is more than the loss of a goat though. We have already had problems with a different neighbor kid and now this. We are already not liking being in the house we are in. And now this.

The store, while we love it, consumes us. We love ministering and being a part of the community. But we also would really like to relax at home, spend time in our yard, have time as a family just chilling.

After Blackjack’s death, we closed the store for the day and went up to the mountains to bury him and Josiah’s snake, Lucy, that died earlier this year. It was quite lovely and peaceful.

We have two places that we are looking at moving to. Neither are ideal, but is there such a thing?