I guess life isn't easy for anyone.

I owe some credit to Beth Moore, the infamous Christian mother, writer, inspiration giver, teacher, and motivator, whose books and lectures I absorb on occasion, but not frequently enough.
My small group is currently studying her book, So Long Insecurity, which although I love it when I pick it up, I have failed to put any real time into reading it piece by piece, and have mostly skimmed.
I won't make up an excuse for why I haven't done something that will clearly reap larger benefits than the occasionally unworthy things that currently have overruled my personal time, but I will say that the small tidbits I have taken from what I have read, have had incremental, but some might say profound impacts on my daily living.
I made another trip to the vital records office yesterday.
It was not to flip through musty pages of dusty volumes of birth records this time. Although it was pertaining to a birth record- not of mine though, and not creating of a fiasco like the other time I showed my face at the vital records office back in August of 2011.
Instead, this time I was getting a certified copy of my daughter's birth certificate.
She will be a kindergardener next year. It goes without saying that I am in shock of this impending future that is closing in at speeds that I can't clock. Besides the obvious and overwhelming perplexities which most likely bubble with my disgust at the Charlotte Mecklenburg schools "lottery system" that leaves many children behind in my opinion, I have to worry about things like where and when. I have no control over my daughter's future education unless I have the greenery to back it up. That worries me about the world.
I visited a private school today in fact, and I expect God, and I know this will sound strange to some people, those that don't believe audaciously the way we all should, and they way God promises us to be able to believe, I expect God to allow Sarah to go to a school where either she can be a part of something wonderful or either she will be the wonderful part of something. I'm not sure if that makes sense to most. It does to me, and that's all that matters right now.
In essence, I know that we will always be provided for in some manner by God. It might not be what I want, but it will always be what I need. And He is the decider.
As I was walking into the Vital Records office in uptown Charlotte, you call it uptown, not downtown, if you're a Charlotte resident, I noticed they had finished their minor, and I express, minor, upgrade. Well it was more of a midgrade if you ask me, but I guess I'm picky, maybe even high maintenance at times.
I beebopped in, with my headphones in, listening to The Strokes and listening way too loud for my already-abused eardrums. I walked into the familiar, somewhat quaint even, office that I had been in not too long ago, without even referencing the marquee. I scooted through the door, which was patiently being held by a middle-aged bald man, who resembled Carey. His first name is drawing a blank now. He hosted who wants to be a millionare, and lost weight, and gained it back, and is funny sometimes, other times drab. Oh whatever his name is, I like him.
I pushed the 3 in the elevator which wasn't draped this time with grey drop cloths, went up, walked down the hall and beebopped in like I owned the place.
Even though I had just walked 2.5 blocks to my car only to find I couldn't find my damn keys, walked back to my office another 2.5 blocks only to find my keys weren't on my desk, and then having frantically called Sarah's daycare across the street to confirm if they had mistakenly landed on her cubby or inside of it, which was not unthinkable, and has happened a few times before, I was not in a bad mood.
Even though it was the third time I had called AAA in 2 maybe 3 months, and that's being generous, even though I had just had a rough as hell morning, I was in a good mood.
I was happy listening to my music, and I knew that whatever had happened, was just that, in the past. I was living in the moment. I was not letting little details bother me.
God takes care of those. For a stresser, that is very hard to take. I don't consider myself a stresser, but I know plenty of people who I would say could join or start a stress club.
I walked into the room, with a smile on my face. The guy behind the counter was curt, but he was cute, so for the moment, it didn't bother me. I asked for change for a ten. He acted like I had asked to get change for a thousand dollar bill. That was fine. I couldn't get it. No biggy.
But before I approached the window, the same bullet retardant, sliding glass window, I went to the forms area to fill out the appropriate form.
Every proper government office has requests to fill in forms before giving out the goods.
So I did what I was asked. I filled out my pink form.
The blue forms were for death certificates. The pink, for birth.
I turned in my form and while I was whistling, and twirling my unruly, curly head to the music, probably chewing gum even, another sign of carefreeness, I looked over and saw something that shrunk my heart.
I saw an elderly black couple, filling out a form. Their form was blue. It wasn't pink, like mine. It was blue.
It was a death certificate form. All I could do, was stop being happy dead in my tracks and be sad for them.
I thought about what they were going through right then. I don't know their story.
They could have been there to get a death certificate for their son who just died in Iraq. It could have been their daughter who was sick with Cancer for the last 5 years. It could have been their granddaughter who was shaken to death by her daddy who was on drugs and couldn't handle fatherhood like her mother could have.
They could have been just geting a copy of a death certificate for someone who died years ago, but I doubt it.
The looks on their faces were solemn. They weren't smiling. There was no beebopping. There was no cutesiness, nor cheer.
There was an undeniable look of grief.
I have seen that look before. I don't know if I can even describe that look accurately. It's a look between partners when you have to give up. It resembles a commonality that only a few could grasp, the few that are engulfed in the issue. It's a blanket covering just your shoulders when it's 34 degrees outside, and you're wearing shorts and a tank top.
That feeling of loss and uncertainty is something that so many people in this world have been so blessed not to have ever known.
I knew it when I saw it immediately. I felt my heart shrink, my lungs collapse, and my eyes bulge, full with water.
That pain is unmistakable. It's undeniable.
Maybe, had I not known the pain, I wouldn't have been so in tune with it. I don't know. But all I could think about was Beth Moore.
I was thinking about her depiction of insecurity and how it can be fed through simple things that people around you do without being aware it.
I was thinking about how a woman can derive insecurity from a friend who reveals more of herself in a manner that makes her feel uncomfortable about herself without even knowing it. Friends can watch what they do to keep other friends' insecurities at bay.
But those are VERY conscious decisions. We all have direct impact on others whether we choose to recognize and believe it or not, whether we chose to acknowledge it or not.
And that is my point. If I can note that someone is having a rough time in her life, just by seeing a blue slip of paper, I can certainly and most undoubtedly make an effort to not throw my happiness in someone else's face who is feeling sadness.