Finding the Pony...

Once there were twin boys of five or six. Worried that the boys had developed extreme personalities -- one was a total pessimist, the other a total optimist -- their parents took them to a psychiatrist.

First the psychiatrist treated the pessimist. Trying to brighten his outlook, the psychiatrist took him to a room piled to the ceiling with brand-new toys. But instead of yelping with delight, the little boy burst into tears. "What's the matter?" the psychiatrist asked, baffled. "Don't you want to play with any of the toys?" "Yes," the little boy bawled, "but if I did I'd only break them."

Next the psychiatrist treated the optimist. Trying to dampen his out look, the psychiatrist took him to a room piled to the ceiling with horse manure. But instead of wrinkling his nose in disgust, the optimist emitted just the yelp of delight the psychiatrist had been hoping to hear from his brother, the pessimist. Then he clambered to the top of the pile, dropped to his knees, and began gleefully digging out scoop after scoop with his bare hands. "What do you think you're doing?" the psychiatrist asked, just as baffled by the optimist as he had been by the pessimist. "With all this manure," the little boy replied, beaming, "there must be a pony in here somewhere!"

Even in the worst of life's vicissitudes (I really just wanted to use that word!), and especially in the mundane, petty circumstances we find ourselves in, we can find the pony in the poop. The lady who reminded me of this story told me that it was how she felt about men (she had to dig through the poop and was looking for her pony). 

(You may stop reading before coming to my personal connection)

It made me think about this boy situation. See, with him gone at camp (did I tell you he's staying at camp for the next 3 weeks, except to come drive me down to Provo?) I miss him a lot. The distance is already rough, but you add no cell reception and it gets a little brutal for me. Then I talk to my mother (who I LOVE) and she told me to put my big girl panties on. She was right. I have a friend who just gave birth to her first child by herself because her husband is on a boat somewhere as a US Marine. I just need to keep my big girl panties on. It's really probably a good thing. Gives me time to sort out my feelings, and gives him time too. He called me Wednesday morning at O'dark thirty (4:40ish, after texting for an hour or so) and I've never been so happy for the phone to ring. This weekend we only talked for a few min on Saturday morning and for a few minutes before church this morning, but oh. It was so nice. All the stress of the week (and it was kind of a mixed week, a doozie and fantastic) just melted away. And I remembered how much I love him. And the best part is that he loves me too... a lot. 

*contented sigh*

10 days till I'm home, probably 11 till I see him :)

Good night!