Most of the time I am a world-class sleeper.  I fall asleep easily, and once asleep, I stay asleep.  Even if I have to get up to use the bathroom, I go back to sleep easily.  I can sleep almost any time of day, too.  I nap nearly every day, even in the summer when I haven’t gotten up at the ungodly hour of 5:00 a.m. 

Nearly twenty years ago I took a trip to Washington D.C. with two of my brothers, my sister-in-law, Linda, and her brother.  I truly had a great time, but one of my most vivid memories is napping in all sorts of public places.  We were getting up quite early every day, and I am not a particularly energetic sightseer, so I slept on the metro (the subway), at the Smithsonian, and I remember one particularly satisfying nap at Ford’s theater. 

Whenever I fly, I almost always fall asleep before the plane has even taken off (of course this happens with the assistance of a half a Dramamine). 

But when it comes to Sunday nights, I have a 23-year case of insomnia. I have tried various strategies to deal with this malady—giving up my Sunday afternoon nap (gasp!), not drinking caffeine on the weekends—but neither approach seemed to do any good.  I have tried just not caring—staying up half the night getting work done, hoping that sleep would eventually overtake me.  Sometimes I even take a half a sleeping pill (any more than that and I am groggy all the next day).  Even with the help of medication, I can still feel my mind whirling all night long.  That does seem to be the problem: my inability to stop thinking long enough to go to sleep. 

So I am (mostly) resigned to this condition.  The good news is that when I have a Monday off, the insomnia takes the night off.  Ahhhhh, sleep.

Maybe one of these days I'll write an entry or two about my four wonderful brothers.  Today, though, I'm thinking about my four wonderful sisters-in-law.  It seems to be almost expected that relationships with in-laws will be filled with conflict, but I have been blessed to have my brothers marry four women who I truly love, admire, and even like.  Two of these women had birthdays this week.  Robin, who's been married to my eldest brother for almost 35 years, celebrated her birthday on January 11th.  Robin is hospitality incarnate.  Taking care of others is not second nature to her--it is first nature.  No one who has ever met her would disagree with me, no matter how short their acquaintance.

Today is Linda's birthday.  Linda has been married to my brother Kevin for almost 23 years.  One of the things I admire most about her is her even-temper.  She is grace under pressure--as a wife, mom, coach, teacher, and friend.  

I met my sister-in-law Carol when I was in the 7th grade at Kellogg Junior High--long before she met my brother Paul, to whom she's been married for nearly 25 years.  When I think of Carol I think of joy, creativity, and energy.  

Michele and David have been married the shortest time--going on 15 years--but both David and I met her in 1975, when we first moved to Kellogg.  She was in the fourth grade then, but she already had the grace and class that she embodies today.  

All of these women have become my friends, and they have all embraced me and my parents and the rest of the crazy Roberts family.  They more than make up for the sisters I didn't have, and probably best of all, they my make already-wonderful brothers better men.  

I've written before about the 21-day fast I am doing to start the year.  One thing I have learned by doing this the last four years is that I can't really anticipate the challenges and blessings of this journey.  For example, the first year we did it, I absolutely craved hamburgers.  I thought about them all the time and couldn't wait to start eating them again.  I really, really missed Pepsi that year, too.  Nothing really hits the spot for me like Pepsi, most of the time.  (Not that I drink it all day long.  I usually have Pepsi with dinner--about 10 ounces will do.)  

But this year, I am not craving any particular foods, and for some reason, the Pepsi that's been chilling in my refrigerator for the past two weeks has not been calling out to me.  On a couple of occasions I have missed the convenience of fast food.  What I am really missing though, what I am really looking forward to, is Starbucks.

The thing is, I really love Starbucks.  I love the lattes (September through December it's all about the pumpkin spice, for me). I used to limit myself to one a week, but I must confess I've increased that this year, to two or three a week.  It's more than the drinks, though.  I love being greeted by the baristas at my Starbucks, across the street from Timberline.  I love getting out of the school for a few minutes--not being Miss Roberts for a few minutes.  I love going there with a colleague or friend, to spend a few moments catching up on our lives outside of our jobs.  

When my father was in the hospital in December, one of my friends showed up in my classroom with a latte.  The next week, I was having a stressful time with life, and my brother came to my room with a latte for me.  Both times I explained to my students that the gift of Starbucks is one of the ways we show affection and concern among my family and friends.  

Starbucks is truly more than just coffee.  It is comfort and pleasure and escape.  And yes, I miss it.  

But I also know where my help truly comes from, and I am more than willing to spend these three weeks renewing my connection with God.  (But I'll also be ready to thank God for Starbucks on day 22!)

In no particular order:

1. getting to discuss poetry with students who seemed mostly interested and who came up with fascinating insights
2. being greeted with a "hello gorgeous" by one of my students.  (She says this to me almost every day, and it never gets old.)
3. having a student offer to get me something at Starbucks.  Even though I'm not drinking coffee right now, I appreciated the thoughtfulness.
4. having a student stop in after school to see if there was anything she could do to help me out
5. playing the piano and singing for 15 minutes at church, on my way to work
6. finding out my niece is going to have a girl (she already has two girls and a boy--and they are the most charming, brilliant, adorable, lovable children in the world)
7. having students congratulate me on my rendition of the National Anthem at last night's game
8. confirming a lunch engagement with three friends I rarely see
9. meeting a new student
10. waking up with the knowledge that I'm only two days away from sleeping in 

After my non-post post yesterday, I've been a little worried about today.  I am staying late at school to conference with students for about four hours, and then I'm singing the national anthem at the boys' basketball game tonight at Timberline.  So, with very little time to spare today, and with inspiration of tonight's singing engagement, I decided to share a piece I wrote a couple of years ago about singing the national anthem.  Here goes:

    My hands are numb.  Well, not numb exactly, but tingling so intensely they might as well be numb.  And it’s not just my hands.  From the tips of my fingers up to my shoulders this odd sensation permeates my body.  And I want to throw up, but based on past experiences, I won’t.  I have already gone to the bathroom three times in the last hour, but I really could go again if there was time.  
    The gym at Timberline High School is as full as I have ever seen it.  Many of my students are in the stands, and they shout greetings and words of encouragement.  “Good luck, Miss Roberts.”   
    As an athlete, adrenaline has never been my friend.  Some athletes respond to high pressure situations by delivering their best performances, but not me.  My hands shake, my stomach rebels, and my coordination lessens.  I am the opposite of the clutch performer.  I am the choker.  But when it comes to singing, adrenaline is my friend.  Oh sure, my body still rebels from the rush of chemicals racing through it.  But the adrenaline buzz gives me strong, pure notes. 
    “And now, to sing our National Anthem, Miss Laurie Roberts.”  I take the microphone and begin to sing, and I can feel it:  I am in the zone.  The low, quiet notes are strong and sure. When I get to the second half of the song, my volume increases as the notes ascend.  I pull the microphone away another four or five inches, so I won’t overload the sound system.  I want to move the audience.   I want the room to vibrate.  I want them to see the rocket’s red glare—to hear the bursting bombs.  
    I hold out the last note—the last word, “braaaaaave”—determined to outlast the Boise Braves fans who traditionally hijack this word, turning it in to their own personal cheer.  Inevitably, their shout dwindles, and I still hold the note—just another beat or two to let them know that this song, these words, this moment, is bigger than they are. 
    For once, adrenaline is my friend.

It was bound to happen eventually.  I figured that if I committed to blogging every day for 21 days I would, sooner or later, find myself without something to say.  Actually, I'm pretty proud of the ten-day run that I've had.  That's ten topics in a row that came pretty easily.  I'd say on average I spent less than fifteen minutes per entry.

But tonight is different.  Maybe I'm just tired.  (I am tired, and planning to be asleep by 8:30).  Whatever the reason, I have spent the last 30 minutes trying and failing to compose blog number eleven.  I've had several false starts, but for various reasons, I've discarded them all.  

And so I am resorting to this: writing about the fact that I can't figure out what to write about.  It sort of feels like cheating, but I'm too sleepy to care.  

Blessings blog world.

We've all had them.  I have one right now, as a matter of fact, and I'm rather enjoying it.  No, I'm talking about the horrible creature from the Wrath of Khan.  Earworm is a term that refers to the song that's stuck in your head.  Sometimes it can be tormenting, particularly if you have a song stuck in your head that you don't even like.  That has definitely happened to me, but I'm not going to tell you about it, because it might trigger its return.

During our Daniel Fast I am going to my church every weekday on my way to work (5:45 am--yikes!) to play the piano and sing and pray for about 15 minutes.  I have been aware this year that the songs I play and sing while I'm there stay in my head throughout the whole day.  It's almost like they are on repeat in my head.  I'll notice various songs throughout the day, smoothly transitioning from one song to the next, all in the same key (the same way I play them when I'm alone at church).  I don't hear myself singing and playing, though.  I hear a choir singing and a whole band playing--with the perfect mix for me (nothing too loud or too quiet).  And when I focus on this sound, I can manipulate it.  Like right at this moment, I've got this free worship going through my head, and I can mix it up, keep the music going, but play with the melody and words the same way I would if I were singing it myself.  Who needs an Ipod?

Last November my church celebrated its 70th anniversary.  My paternal grandparents, Evert and Martha Roberts, founded Meridian Gospel Tabernacle in 1940, and my grandfather was senior pastor until 2002.  What a heritage I have. 

Tonight I am watching the DVD we had recorded on the day of our celebration, and am I amazed again to see us honoring 14 couples who have been members of MGT for 25 or more.  In fact, more than half of them have been at MGT for more than 40 years.  That means most of these pillars have been at MGT for as long as I can remember.  

I am blessed, too, to see others who visited us that day--friends and former members who have moved away or moved on to other ministries, but they came back joyfully and celebrated the legacy of MGT with us.  

As I watch this, I am reminded of a snippet of a song I wrote a couple of years ago.  It simply says:  "I will be found in the house of the Lord."  May we all find that house where we can be planted, where we can be faithfully found, because it will feed us, and in being fed we will be able to go through our daily lives bringing God's love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control to the world.

I will be found in the house of the Lord.

I am a runner.  I feel guilty about saying that sometimes, because, to me, it is really a badge of honor to be a runner, and I don't always feel like I deserve the badge.  I have fallen into a pattern over the last several years, of running regularly during the summer, and then quickly falling off the running wagon when school starts in the fall.  This school year has been no different.  After a summer of fierce running, which included several two-run days, I was done running by mid-September.  I ran twice over my Thanksgiving break.  And so here I am, starting the new year, body out of shape, beginning to run again.  I have committed to running every day for 21 days, and I'd like to think I could keep up that discipline throughout the rest of the winter and spring.  But alas, I know me.  

Still today's run was awesome.  I love cold-weather running.  Today, wearing my running tights, one thin, long-sleeved top, what we used to call a stocking cap (I believe most people call them beanies these days), I was plenty warm.  And even though I am out of shape, I am already seeing progress in my endurance and speed, after just 8 days back at it.  

I am a runner.  And I'll run for a while and then stop.  But then I'll run again.  I always do.

I am a runner.

It may be obvious that I have a new commitment to blogging.  I've had the blog for about a year, but I think I wrote less than ten entries last year.  As a part of my Daniel Fast discipline, I decided to blog every day for 21 days.  I am actually quite interested in writing, and like most things in life, I've noticed I get better at it (more efficient, anyway), when I do it regularly.  So here it is, my seventh entry in seven days.  

At times I feel unbelievably self-indulgent about this medium.   I mean, why not just write a journal?  Why do I feel the need to go public?  It's not like I'm a blogger with a particular theme or message.  I'm not curing cancer--or even working my way through Julia Child's cookbook. I'm just talking about whatever I feel like talking about.  

However, I have really enjoyed reading other people's blogs.  I never think of other bloggers as self-indulgent.  I have gotten to know my sister-in-law, her sister and brother, my cousin, and a few others much better by reading their blogs.  In fact, these are some of the people who have encouraged me to do this.  Also, I love getting comments on my blog (although it also freaks me out a little, since it reminds me people are actually reading this).  I looked at my blog stats the other day and it boggled my mind to see that over a hundred visitors have been here in the last week.  Yikes!

For a long time, I kept saying I wasn't ready to blog.  That's partly because I know that I'm not willing to be as transparent as some of my blogging heroes are.  But I suppose we all just need to find our own level of comfort when it comes to transparency.  

Oh, I am thinking of switching my blog to blogspot.com.  In fact, I am working on a page right now (alert the media).