Evinda Lepins

Coffee Hour @ Chicklit Power...

Oh, how to put the next thirty days into words? I’ve actually dreaded writing this part of the season of Nana Holds, though I have learned so much from it so I will try and write about it in a way that glorifies Him and all He’s taught me and brought me through more than glorifying the pain it took to get me there.
I think to shed some meaningful light on just how dark things had gotten, I need to share something I forgot to mention that happened back on our little getaway. It was Friday evening and we were having dinner, finally. I say that because we had waited about an hour to get into this restaurant, which was no big deal. There is plenty to do
while waiting. After all, it’s Vegas! All around us was gambling fever, people everywhere. It’s one of the more interesting places to people watch. Anyway, when we finally were paged and taken to our seats, for some reason, it took another fifteen minutes for them to even acknowledge us, and then finally, our waitress took our drink order, promising to be “right back” to get our food order.
Well, I don’t know about you or your man, but when mine gets hungry, he gets a bit cranky. I remember trying to find things to talk about to distract him, such as the ambiance of the restaurant. Mistake! Ugh, talk about anything but the restaurant. Get his mind off of waiting, away from food and on to something that makes him smile.
In the midst of the frustrated tension, our drink orders arrived and as the waiter left, I picked mine up and did what Bryden likes to do. “Cheers.”
At the thought of Bryden, he smiled! It worked . . . for a minute. I wanted desperately to know what in the world was going on in that head of his. It was obvious he was uncomfortable and . . . I can’t even put words to it but I can see him, his eyes devoid of joy, his face tired and his shoulders positioned in such a way that they looked burdened in a heavy sort of way. And his frustration was increasing as the minutes ticked by with no appearance from our waitress for our food order.
When the waitress finally returned to take our order, twenty minutes later, George simmered down to calm but he let her know in a sarcastic way that only he specializes in

that he thought she disappeared and went home. Then like the flip of a switch, he asked her about the steak he wanted to order. After listening to her explanation of how it was cooked, he ordered his dinner, and I ordered mine. “I’ll get that right in,” and she walked away.
I still had over half of my drink. I began to sip on it and then proceeded to ask him about work and his job that morning. Mistake! Big mistake! Out
of nowhere, he exploded emotionally like a helium balloon that had popped. What came out of his mouth didn't surprise me and yet it did. To finally have this confession that I had suspected months ago exposed for                                                                                                                                            after dinner view

both of us to look at was painful in a raw way, especially considering the expletives that came with it, which I will not repeat.
But there in the captivating and exciting ambiance of Gordon Ramsay’s Pub & Grill, my husband blurted his disdain for his job, confessing he was in a rut and hated his life.
I, for one of the few times in my life, was rendered speechless!
Join me tomorrow for more, and rejoice in trials for they are temporary but how we endure through them will go with us into eternity!
Evinda

Nana Holds!