tired of this

i spent the better part of this late afternoon curled up on the couch.  i'd like to tell you that i was cozied up to the comfort of a blazing fire.  but alas, not today. for you see, we are out of wood.  winter has, officially, run just a little too long.  the two "ricks" of wood we ordered last fall have dwindled -- six months of winter will do that to the wood pile...to the woman as well.  dwindled.  that's how i feel today curled up near the cold of naked hearth.  no fire, no warmth...just winter.  we are in the midst of some kind of wicked storm on this 14th day of april -- an incredible mix of snow and sleet and rain. at the moment, our entire back wall of windows is being pelted with ice -- like great handfuls of marbles tossed upon the glass.  a-rat-a-tat-tat. it is unbelievable to hear, inconceivable to see.  it is april.  the weather can't seem to make up its mind:  one minute we have flurries and the next we have rain.  in between there is ice.  a-rat-a-tat-tat it taps and taps and taps.  the pounding, the pelting, the pulsating all in perfect staccato seeming to say: winter. winter. winter.  just won't go away.

i'm not going to lie, we're all a little tired of this.

and tomorrow's unappealing agenda isn't helping the ice-storm of today.  tomorrow morning i go back into surgery to remove another mass from my breast.  remember i had to do that last spring?  just one year after a double mastectomy in may of 2011 i had to head back in for another biopsy.  and this spring (i'm using that seasonal word loosely here) the scar tissue has come back.  again. and surgical removal is required. again. rat-a-tat-tat. a woman doesn't plan on annual surgical biopsies after she's had a bilateral mastectomy.  she just doesn't.  but we have to take out the mass and biopsy it one more time. we must. i'm not overly concerned about it.  my oncologist and surgeon are both pretty confident it is nothing but gnarly, miserable scar tissue, but because it's in the same spot as the original tumor, it is prudent to remove, test and be sure.  of course it is.  so back to the hospital.  back under anesthesia.  back on the operating table. back into the biopsy waiting game.

i'm not going to lie, we're all a little tired of this, too.

the weather.  the cancer.  both feel pretty darn yucky on this sunday evening as i stare out the darkening window, listening to the cold smack of weather against glass. fragile.

so, i guess what i want to know on this wild night is this:  what's your thing?  what's got you feeling weary tonight?  what's got you a little worn out this evening?

my guess is we've all got a little something.  something which wears us out...wears us thin...wears us all the way through.  what is tapping belligerently at the glass window of your life? rat-a-tat-tat. what is pelting you with fear and frustration on this april evening? rat-a-tat-tat.  perhaps you've got something you've been dealing with just a little bit longer than ever expected.  you thought you were done.  you thought it was over. but, somehow, in someway, it continues to gnaw or plague or pelt.

we all know it is in these worn out places which the devil wants to dwell.  he wants to climb right into our thoughts through the tired thread-bare holes in our head.  he wants to whisper his lies and make us believe the sky is falling.  rat-a-tat-tat.  he wants to pelt us with pain of hopelessness. rat-a-tat-tat.  he wants to weaken us with the weapon of fear.

don't let him.

don't give in to the weather or the cancer or the anxiety or the betrayal or the bitterness.

i know it seems hard right now.  i know it full well. i feel the terrible tired in my bones tonight, too.  but friend, i want to encourage you to find that sliver of hope.  you won't find it in yourself.  you won't find it in the forecast.  you won't find it in the results. you'll only find it in Him.

and if you're feeling at all like i am tonight, then it's time to go looking.

yesterday i snapped this picture of my boys down at our lake.  a small rim of water had finally melted after this half year of winter.  finally, we could see a thin sliver of open water.  it wasn't much,  but it was enough to send my boys to the basement in search of their kayaks.   and before i knew it, my two crazy sons had launched a kayak into this mere slice of stream -- like they were chasing spring.  like they were chasing hope.  it tickled me to see it.  to see them go looking for spring in the midst of the massive, frozen lake minnetonka with nothing more than a kayak and a good dose of boy-hope.

we're all a little tired of some stuff,  aren't we?  

but that's exactly the time to get into the boat.  find that small sliver in the worn out places of life and go looking for hope.

His Hope.

"but those who HOPE in the LORD 

will renew their strength. they will soar 

on wings like eagles;

they will run and not grow weary, 

they will walk and not be faint."

~ isaiah 40:31

one may go a long way after one is tired. ~ french proverb

* and a big shout out to the husband who in the middle of my writing this piece, braved the dreadful weather and headed out to the store...  for firewood!  we're back in business, my friends.  and it's a good thing.  rat-a-tat-tat!

christmas cards and shattered things...

what do christmas cards and shattered windows have in common?  nothing.  absolutely nothing.  or at least that's what i thought last week.

christmas cards. just saying those two words together makes me smile. you too? yep, i thought so! i love getting them. studying the pictures ...seeing the changed faces...the growing kids...the captured history. it is pure pleasure for me to sit down in the evening, a fire at my feet and a stack of cards in my lap. i pour over your letters and catch up on your news, relishing, savoring, downright gobbling up the bits and pieces of your lives.  really, i have no idea who started this tradition, but i am so glad someone thought it up and i'm so glad we busy, crazy, technology-captivated people continue it. in a strange way, i think the cards mean more now days in our new world of immediate communication than ever before. we can send the same message in a text or an email, but it's not really the same, is it? it's not the same as seeing a card or two each day in our mailbox or sitting fireside with words and photos from old friends.

i mean, i know sometimes it's okay to miss a year here or there, but most of us come back to this great, december tradition. no one is ever sad to see an extra card or two mixed into the pile of bills at the end of the day. it is this little assurance that we are connected to people -- real people -- no matter where they live or how we've changed.  we want to connect.  we want to touch base and celebrate in this one season of christmas, the many seasons of our life.

i delight in the process. i do. i am one of those who enjoys planning the card and typing her letter.  sure, some years i barely get it done or i blast it out in my busy-ness -- some years i fit it in between dinner and dishes. but i enjoy it, nonetheless. my family has learned to accept this christmas season obsession. they've learned to smile for the camera and assist with the stamping and stuffing of envelopes. they understood, years ago, it is a task non-negotiable.

this december, as usual, it was all hands on deck. over the course of several evenings, sarah and connor stuffed letters and cards, attached address labels and affixed stamps. perfect jobs for a 4th and 7th grader. and i am pleased to inform you that, this year, bella was promoted to chief-envelope-licker.  she licked most of the envelopes and pressed them closed.  at one point, i insisted she go get a drink of water, she's not quite 30 pounds yet, and i feared she'd just dry up and blow away with the amount of moisture each envelope required. i wish i had taken pictures of the kids helping. i'd have posted them RIGHT HERE. but, we were in process and there was sort of a deadline, and believe it or not, for once, i didn't think to photograph something.

connor has been a little concerned that since we had moved, we wouldn't receive a single card this year. he knew it was important that we send ours out early so people had our new address. he's been bugging me about it since before thanksgiving. that's just how my little guy is wired. in fact, that's the story i begin our christmas letter with. "mom, do you think we'll get any cards this year? i mean, do people even know we've moved?"

we didn't really get our letter out early -- no surprise to me. but, still, it was sent in a somewhat respectable time. there have been some years where they didn't get out before the holiday...and i have to tell you, that's perfectly okay too. there's this one dear family who i have known since i was a young girl,  and they send their card sometime in the first week of february -- every year. and i think that's absolutely brilliant!

i want you to know though, your cards came with a little something extra this year. not just bella's cute little lips kissing the envelopes closed. but there's a story of sorts with their sending.

we were on our way to bella's ballet class and at the last minute, i thought to throw in the box of cards and drop them off at the post office on my way. the roads were clear and dry and the day was sunny. i loaded my ballerina and my box of cards into the car and off we went. bella behind me in her car seat with ballet bun and pink leotard. christmas cards cheerfully on the seat beside me. blue skies and bright sun above.  bella and i sang along to christmas carols and everything felt perfect. christmas time perfect. just the way this woman likes it.

and because i can never pass up the opportunity to accomplish an errand via the "drive-thru" i decided to do just that: drive up to the drop off boxes and throw in the remaining cards.  fast and efficient, it would give me five extra minutes to stop at starbucks.  but fast and efficient turned quickly into mini-disaster and messy.   my words will not be able to fully do justice to what occurred at that mailbox last thursday, but it went something like this.  i pulled up. hit a small patch of ice on an incline. and my yukon xl began to slide sideways. in fact, it slid sideways on the ice and slammed right into the mailboxes. and because the mail shoot is up high on those boxes (for quick dropping, of course) that high shoot smacked my rear side window.  it not only smacked it, but it shattered into a zillion pieces, sounding just like a gunshot. i was stunned.  absolutely stunned.  i was only dropping off christmas cards.  happy, lovely, friendly christmas cards.  how in the world did i just end up with a shattered back window on a sunny, blue-skied day? we were on our way to ballet class -- pink leotard and tiny ballerina in my back seat.  this shattered back window just didn't fit the picture. it didn't fit the christmas-time perfect.

you can't tell, but the entire window is shattered in tiny, tiny pieces...

i pulled away and watched the lady behind me pull up and do exactly the same thing in her mini van.  (her window fared better though). as i maneuvered my suv away from the post office and into a nearby parking spot the movement caused the window to implode even further. the mid-section gave way and glass began to fall inside and outside the vehicle. it was the craziest thing ever.  remember, i was dropping off christmas cards on the way to ballet. the yukon looked like it had just driven through a war zone, not a holiday post office. bella and i were both pretty shaken up. none of it made sense. and how in the world was i supposed to call my husband and explain what had just happened? i wasn't even sure what had happened exactly. "umm honey... i was mailing our christmas cards and the back window kinda broke...ah, yeah."

oh these things do happen though. even in the midst of all this merry and in the midst of all this holiday hooray-ing...broken windows occur.  broken things happen. broken people shatter. things don't make sense.  there isn't really any good explanation.  after hearing about the loss of precious life in connecticut, we certainly have felt like that this past week, haven't we?  my broken window was nothing. we got if fixed the next day and we'll forget about it by next month.  but there are other broken bits to this december of 2012. there are other things which don't fit into our perfect christmas card picture. other awful things which have snuffed out the twinkling lights and stolen the comfort and joy. somehow we think december should be immune from the devastation and disaster of our broken world.  somehow we believe this holy month should put all things horrible on hold. but we've been tragically reminded this year, that there is no immunity. there is no hiatus. there is no pause from great pain -- at least not on this earth. oh, the unbelievable grief of it all.

and here we are just days before celebrating the birth of the Holy Christ-Child...and though we may not have our cards mailed or our lives perfect or our hard questions answered, we can have hope.  it is this very season which gives us the gift of hope.  we have hope when we keep our eyes not on the magic of christmas, but fixed on the manger of the Christ-Child.  the magic blows up and disappears with the broken pieces of living.  candy canes and christmas cards mean nothing when children are buried the week before christmas. but the manger means everything. the manger produced a perfect Savior.  and it is that same Savior who will come again and redeem this broken, broken, broken world. and though i cannot begin to understand or explain what happened in connecticut last week, i am certain, we are all more desperate for real hope than ever before.

"He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds." ~ psalm 147:3

and that, my friends, is really the only message worth mailing this year. glossy photos and clever letters are kind of nice to read fireside on a cold winter evening, but the only thing truly worth remembering is the Hope of Heaven, come to us as a baby, lying in a manger.

"Then the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid, for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy which will be to all people. “For there is born to you this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. “And this will be the sign to you: 

You will find a Babe wrapped in swaddling cloths, lying in a manger.”  ~ luke 2:10-12

the perfect babe. swaddled as an infant. broken as a man. resurrected as a redeemer.
and, someday, returning as a King. the only message of hope. our only hope.  hope.

O come, O come, Emmanuel

And ransom captive Israel

That mourns in lonely exile here

Until the Son of God appear

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel

Shall come to thee, O Israel.

* * *

shattered window or not, we made it to ballet that day.  i wanted to close this piece with a few sweet pictures i snapped just an hour, or so, after my run in with the mailbox.  

a little beauty after brokenness.

 

who holds your year?

 i woke up this morning thinking about last year.  not last night, but thinking about new year's eve a year ago.  we shared it with our friends, mike and meritt,  and then went home before midnight.  (tired toddler issues). the rest of the evening we played a board game, ate some junk food and watched a little tv.  normal new year's eve stuff. and, like millions of others around the world, when the ball dropped, we toasted the new year--kissed, hugged, hoped.

not one of us ever considered that we'd face something like cancer in just a few months of this toasting. i always take time to think about what the new year might hold, but not in the farthest reaching corners of my mind could i have guessed 2011 would bring with it such a dreaded diagnosis.  for some reason, my wiring is such, that i've never been tremendously anxious about the future.  i've always had a pretty positive outlook, a  pretty healthy perspective.  but within just a few months, that bright and shiny new year turned awfully dark. black, in fact. and i learned something big in 2011:  sometimes "the new" can be scary.  i had never imagined dealing with such a large medical crisis.  we were coasting along as a new family just fine.  bella had only been home a few months, it was her first christmas and her first new year.  it was an unbelievably beautiful time filled with happiness and health and hope.  we were just settling into the skin of our family of seven, just getting into our groove and so i toasted 2011 with great expectation, with great hope.   obviously, just expecting more of the same--more of a good thing. more love, more grace, more beauty. more.

but the truth is, when we stand on the precipice of a new year, we have no idea what is out ahead.  we hope for the best and we pray for our future, but there's really no way to know what the new year might bring.  perhaps that is not what you wanted to read today. it certainly isn't a message i long to listen to. but this morning i woke up and read through all the facebook posts and status updates written throughout the weekend. one after another, i read words declaring "2012 will be good, will be great, will be better!"  but what if it's not?   what if it comes and it brings something harder, hotter, heavier?  in 2011, i had a friend who lost his mother, a friend who lost her son, a friend who lost his job, a friend who lost his way, and a friend who lost her battle.  none of it expected.  none of it planned for.  none of it present, or seemingly possible, in their new year's toast just one year ago.  we don't want to think of the unthinkable -- certainly not on new year's eve or new year's day--at least i don't.  i'd much prefer to focus on the kissing and the hugging and the great hoping.

just yesterday morning, i wrote a piece about new hope.  and i believe every word i scratched out in that blog post.  i really am not attempting to contradict myself one bit between these two days, but i felt compelled when i woke again to write a little further, to travel a little farther...to look a little deeper into true hope.  not the cross your fingers kind of hope. not the close your eyes and click your heels kind of hope.  i guess that's what i've been reading in some of those facebook comments and it's what i've been hearing on the news or in the supermarket ...  "i sure do hope 2012 is better... i'm going to try harder, work longer, love stronger, play nicer, run faster, be kinder."  but is that really hope? and while resolutions are good and helpful and appropriate, they aren't everything.  we can make all the wonderful resolutions in the world and still wake up on a sunny april day and be told we have cancer.  

i guess what i'm writing about this morning, is that our hope really has to be in something more than a new year.  it has to be in something more than ourselves and our january resolutions.  i am always writing things down. and every new year, since i can remember, i've made a list of things to change, to work on, to improve, to address, to fix.  last year, as i scribbled down my thoughts in my pretty little leather journal, i had no idea a malignant tumor was growing violent in my breast.  had i known, it might have changed what i was writing.  it might have changed what i was thinking. it might have even changed how i was living.  i don't know. i didn't know.

2011 took a lot from me, no doubt it took a lot from me as a woman. but 2011 wasn't in charge.  2011 doesn't have the final say.  2011 is just a year.  and in God's hands it is nothing more than a drop in the bucket,  it is nothing more than an eyelash on eternity.   God who created minutes and months and years and all of time,  He is the holder of 2011 and 2012 and 2013.  and just because i got cancer, doesn't mean He let go for a minute.  it doesn't mean He set down the year and forgot about it or forgot about me.  not one bit.  He held and He continues to hold.  and that is what i am writing about this morning.  our hope can't be in just another new year.  in it, we're sure to fail and fall.  we need something more than just january. we need something more than the fresh flip of a calendar year.  

we walked through those horrific months of cancer and surgery because God was holding us.  it didn't have anything to do with me trying harder or being better or digging deeper,   it was about Him holding tight.  i had to surrender to the full knowledge of His hold.  not that it was easy, i'm a bit of a fighter and kind of an obstinate one at that.  many times through those months i wanted to rip myself from His arms and, like a small child, demand "let me do it!" i wanted the comfort of control.  and then He would patiently and tenderly whisper in my ear, "let go child, let go. I've got you." 

this morning in church our pastor posed a question.  what would happen if you prayed on this new year's day and asked God to do something so great in you and through you that it could only be attributed to God - that only He could be glorified?  just the thought of those words started my heart racing. seriously, i began to sweat in my seat.  because there's a part of me that knows when we pray that prayer it opens up all kinds of possibilities. it throws open the window to some pretty wild what ifs.   do we really mean it?  don't we want to pray that, but also include an addendum of our own suggestions.  like, "dear God, please do something so great in me and through me, but keep my kids safe and keep my health intact and keep my bank account full and keep my marriage thriving."  i don't know about you, but that is how i am tempted to pray -- to pray with conditions.

but then God gave me cancer.  there, i said it.  i know some of you don't believe that.  how can God, who is perfect and loving and good, give something like cancer? oh, i know how crazy that sounds.  but here's the deal:  my hope can only be in a God who has it ALL in control.  not just some of it.  not just the nice things, the sweet things, the pretty things...but ALL of it.  would i want to serve anyone less?  could i serve anything less?  think about it.


and so, today,  january first, i look ahead into another new year.  i know from experience, there could be some pretty hard times around this winter corner.  i know from 2011 this next year gives no guarantee of grief-free living.  but my true hope, my real hope,  is not in the happy highlights of these next 12 months.  my only hope is in the one who holds this year--all of it.  the good and the bad.


and though i don't know what the future holds, i do know who holds the future.

"may the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope."  ~ romans 15:13

note:  2011 also brought a bit of surprise for mike and meritt sims (mentioned at the top of this post) today they left for china.  the sims are on their way to their new daughters maggie and mary henley.   they are adopting these two girls (exactly bella's age!) from two different provinces.  mike and meritt have a college senior, a high school senior and an 8th grader.  follow them at the THE SEVEN SIMS. amazing http://msims7.blogspot.com/

something new

"the steadfast love of the LORD never ceases; his mercies never come to an end;  great is his faithfulness; his mercies begin afresh each morning."  ~ lamentations 3:22-23

new mercies. is there ever a day i don't need them? ever a morning i wake not desperate for a little new and a little mercy?  fresh starts.  new beginnings.  do overs. oh how thankful i am that God, in His wisdom, created them all.   i am not sure what kind of mess i'd be if i didn't have the option to begin anew. afresh.  i simply can't imagine if as mother and wife and daughter and sister and friend i just stayed on a straight, never-changing, never ending course.  i'd be burnt out, bored and, without doubt, pretty darn tired.


of course we all feel that way on certain days. come 10 o'clock and the kids still awake we ask ourselves and maybe our spouses... will this day never end?   with these past two weeks of holiday making, my children have all had ridiculously late bedtimes.  the days sometimes a little too long.  even the very smallest girl has been seen romping around at unseemly hours. we're all off schedule.   and i've noticed things about these late nights:  like, when the movie ends at 11pm or the family is up in the kitchen fixing a snack at 10:30,  i've noticed that sometimes the patience runs thin and the irritability runs high.  we are all tired and tiresome. and i'm probably the worst one of them all.  that's what it is.  i want to tell my family to go get in bed, climb into their covers, because tomorrow will come.  and we need it. we need our tomorrows.  and just like little orphan annie sang her heart out, "the sun will come out tomorrow, you can bet your bottom dollar, that tomorrow there'll be sun..."  she was right.  she had hope. there is something about tomorrow.  there is something about a new day.  a fresh start. a blank page.  there is something wonderful about the mercy of mornings.


our bleakest thoughts and our sharpest fears fill the night. "though weeping endures for a night, joy comes in the morning."(psalm 30:5).  when i cried myself to sleep as a teenage girl with a broken heart, i thought i understood this verse well.  but with a little more life under my belt:  disappointments, failed attempts, further heartbreak, anxious times, disobedient children, rejection, a frightening diagnosis...this verse means something different. something more.  have you ever wept through a night? i have. as blessed as we are, each one of us has probably had something or someone who has caused all night weeping.  it isn't pretty, is it?  david understood that, "i am weary with my moaning; every night I flood my bed with tears; i drench my couch with my weeping." (psalm 6:6). even david, a man after God's own heart, spent some good nights crying his eyes out.  he understood what it meant to wait for morning, to wait for something new.  and even if everything isn't all better come sunrise, joy has a much better shot.  it is the craziest thing -- the thoughts which can torment and torture throughout the dark hours of evening, calm and quiet with the first move toward morning. it is a new day and new mercies do come.  it is called hope.  and it just seems easier to find earlier in the day.


hope springs up from something new.  it springs up from change.  we are reminded that life is not static and straight.  God created seasons and cycles.  He created day and night.  He created all of this even before He created man and woman, because He knew we'd need a break. immediately. He knew we'd have little children who must have bedtimes and He knew the mother and the father, well, they'd need sleep and fresh starts and plenty of do-overs too.  He knew we'd need summer to warm our winters and winters to replenish the heavy heat of summer.  He knew we'd need time:  hours, days, months and those crazy new years.  before He even stirred adam from the dust of the earth, God stirred the idea of new hope. He wove it into His very command of creation.  because He knew.

i suppose a new year does the same thing for us.  what didn't work out in 2011 is now a bygone.  water under the bridge.  behind us. yesterday's news.  but 2012 is coming and it is clean -- we haven't trampled over the 365 days of it yet.  we haven't sullied it with our messes or mistakes.  it is brand spanking new.  dazzling and dangling before us, like the big ball in the city sky.  and with the stroke of midnight, when that ball dramatically drops, our entire country rejoices.  we celebrate wildly together, kissing spouses and children and sometimes even strangers, all because deep inside each one of us knows, we need something new.  new year's eve has taken a pretty sharp turn from anything spiritual, but stop and think.  it is absolutely that.  when we find redemption we find renewal. we start fresh. start over.  and isn't that exactly what being the children of God is all about.  the old adam gone.  the old woman changed. a new creation. beautiful. "therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!"  (2 corinthians 5:17).  and that is hope.  the only hope.


i think the prodigal son is a new year's eve boy.  after his wild and reckless living,  after his raucous and rebellious behavior,  after his turning his back on his father and family, he comes home.  he comes home limping and dirty and smelling of pig.  he comes home tired and tortured and wrong.  oh boy, was he was wrong -- big time.  he had gone and gambled with his very inheritance.  he toyed with the treasure entrusted to him and it ended in complete and total disaster.  he ended broken and bruised and sharing quarters with swine.  but when he realized the error of his ways and turned his heart toward home, toward his father, new mercies were waiting for him on the threshold.  his father didn't just open his arms, but ran to meet his wayward son walking the dusty lane.  his father killed the fatted calf and his father threw the biggest ball (i imagine better than any new year's eve celebration ever).  his lost son was found.  his rebellious son was restored. the ball didn't have to drop and the year didn't have to change, but it was time to start anew.  the son had been found.  new mercy had been found.  new life had been found.  it was time to party.

and that's exactly the picture of our Father's love for us as we head into 2012.  new mercy.  in the middle of black night or in the midst of bright morning, our Father is ready to clothe us in His new robes of righteousness.  He is ready to restore us.  ready to wipe clean our slate and make clean our countenance.  He is ready with open arms and an open door and a fatted calf.  there is no pig pen too dirty, no rebel too rebellious, no sin too ugly.  new year or not, there is always new mercy found on the threshold of our Father.


i wish you friends, in this new year... new mercies,  new hope and new life.

hopeful

i was hoping that by today we would have had some kind of update. but nothing. we were told that if zhang was doing well she would leave the hospital and return to the orphanage yesterday. i have heard nothing. it is a strange thing as we begin to consider this little girl our daughter...and then to not know if she is well or unwell...in the hospital or in the orphanage...part of me wants to charge forward in this rescue mission...part of me fears how hard this will be. the less we know, the more our love seems to grow. is this possible? is it normal to be almost fearful to love something...someone? i am sure it must be. this is hard. we chip away at the daunting list of forms and paperwork. we must hold these items now...hoping they will lead to holding this little girl at the end of this seemingly long road.
she is now such a normal part of our prayers. our bedtime prayers with the children...our meal time prayers...my prayers that run rambling throughout the day over a variety of topics....zhang's name, zhang's face weaves through them. so thankful that Jesus is watching over her. just so thankful for that today....it doesn't always feel like enough. but, we know that it is. it is enough.