A prayer answered.
I was really out of sorts yesterday. I was feeling pretty down about issues with my mother. We argue constantly now, over petty things that should be able to be handled with some modicum of civility. Such as money, or things needed for life or school. I'm not talking about luxuries, but actual needful things. Yesterday we had a huge fight over money, how much I had and my spending habits. I am driven to think it really only gets this bad with her because she is looking for a fight. She always comes into any conversation with me on the defensive, putting me on the defensive in response. Take yesterday for example. All I wanted to talk to her about was ow much I enjoyed my photojournalism class, so I called her into the room I was in, saying "Hey mom, come here, I want to tell you something." To which she snaps from the other room "Not if it involves arguing." Well of course it's going to turn into an argument if you walk into it with that attitude. I know it takes two to tango as the saying goes, and that I could be and am trying to be alot better about how I deal with my mother, but come on, no one can really have a civil conversation with someone who is waiting to argue with you and isn't listening to what you say, but is instead just thinking about what they'll say next to further the argument. So thats why I was in a pissy mood yesterday afternoon.
On another note, I really needed someone's help yesterday. My grandfather was a fount of wisdom and respect for me, and it was a terrible blow to my family and myself when he died. I've needed his advice on alot of things lately, and have been praying fervently for something. I got my answer yesterday night. I came home really late after seeing Kaley and Madi, and laying on my bed was a really old red and brown shoebox, filled with little yellow boxes labeled "Matthew 83" or "Scottie 92" and so on and so forth. I immediately recognize my grandfathers handwriting, so I opened the boxes. They were slides, thousands of them. My grandfather was a photographer, and in his later years took immense pleasure in snapping off random photos of his grandchildren. But there were also slides and photos of his work portfolio, stirring pictures from his time in the military. Here it was, the answer I had been looking for. I looked through alot of those pictures with tears in my eyes. God had heard my prayers, and had driven my grandmother to mention this box of pictures she had just found to my parents at dinner. My dad brought it home and put it on my bed for me to find later. God and my grandfather had finally given me the advice I needed. Looks like Photojournalism is the way I'm going.
On another note, I really needed someone's help yesterday. My grandfather was a fount of wisdom and respect for me, and it was a terrible blow to my family and myself when he died. I've needed his advice on alot of things lately, and have been praying fervently for something. I got my answer yesterday night. I came home really late after seeing Kaley and Madi, and laying on my bed was a really old red and brown shoebox, filled with little yellow boxes labeled "Matthew 83" or "Scottie 92" and so on and so forth. I immediately recognize my grandfathers handwriting, so I opened the boxes. They were slides, thousands of them. My grandfather was a photographer, and in his later years took immense pleasure in snapping off random photos of his grandchildren. But there were also slides and photos of his work portfolio, stirring pictures from his time in the military. Here it was, the answer I had been looking for. I looked through alot of those pictures with tears in my eyes. God had heard my prayers, and had driven my grandmother to mention this box of pictures she had just found to my parents at dinner. My dad brought it home and put it on my bed for me to find later. God and my grandfather had finally given me the advice I needed. Looks like Photojournalism is the way I'm going.