THE FLIP SIDE

365 Days of Thanksliving — Day 183

Howdy, howdy, blog fans. Welcome to the flip-side; the B-Side; the sophomore slump track. Or are we at the literal median on the continuum? With 182 days behind us, and another 182 ahead, perhaps today officially marks the dead-center of our deep dive into all things thankful living. Or maybe it doesn't. IDK... I can’t math, so don't quote me on the arithmetic.

Sewwwww… today. It was an interesting one. Great news, though: I’ve officially survived seven days on my new ketogenic journey. I was down 7½ lbs. as of this morning, and as I type this tonight, supper is done and my tum-tum is blissfully pacified. Of course, come noon tomorrow, my inner Audrey II will start shrieking, “Feed me, Seymour, I’m starving!” But it was after lunch that the day got... steamy.

Being a Monday, the day started out predictably mundane. But that’s okay. After a nice visit with Max, I headed home, wolfed down some lunch, let it settle, and then ventured out to tackle the lawn. Y'all. The growth, the weeds, the mutant dandelions—it was less like a yard and more like the hostile landscape of an unexplored alien planet.

Now, I had every intention of clear-cutting this jungle on Saturday. But the darn engine wouldn't kick over; the starter cord flat-out refused to pull. And me, being 1 billion percent mechanically moronic, I stared at it like a dog looking at a ceiling fan. It took Mr. Redman exactly one hour yesterday to diagnose and fix the problem. Just call me Homer Simpson—dirt and mud were clogging up the undercarriage, freezing the blade in place and preventing it from rotating. Duh!

Well, in the ensuing 48 hours of my mechanical ineptitude, the Amazon rainforest shot up another few inches. The poor dogs needed a machete just to go potty. Our neighbors were probably driving by, wondering when the new rednecks in town were going to finally unearth the rusted-out Chevy surely buried back there.

Anyway, factor in temps in the 80s, humidity sitting right around "swamp," and my Godzilla-sized belly that makes Gabriel Iglesias look positively petite. Hauling all that extra fluff out front, it didn't take long before I felt like the Grim Reaper was tapping me on the shoulder. By God’s grace alone, I got it done. But Holy Moly Batman, I was whooped. I am so profoundly out of shape, and today served as a delightfully sweaty reminder of that.

Truly, dragging myself out there to mow—at what was undeniably the absolute worst time of the day—was a fantastic lesson not just in God’s grace, but in pure, unadulterated humility. The Good Book puts it perfectly:

"But [God] gives more grace. Therefore it says, 'God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble.'" (James 4:6, CSB)

And ya know, I think that’s a painfully fitting thought for this midpoint post. Even getting utterly humbled by my own yard is a solid reason to give thanks to the Good Lord above. If nothing else, being humbled reminds me not to get too big for my britches (in every possible sense of the phrase). Thank goodness I’m finally doing something about it.

Hey… maybe by summer’s end, mowing the lawn won't leave me feeling like I'm about to become a permanent resident of the literal B-Side of life. Hahaha!

What are you thankful for today?

Well, that’s it for today. See ya again tomorrow, for more musings from the flip side.