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When we first moved to the country we lost power every time it rained. The lights went out, and all background noise stopped. Also known as white noise—unobtrusive sounds we don’t notice—until they disappear. The fan on the woodstove. The motor inside the fridge.

New poles were put in place a couple years later, and we haven’t had as many black-outs since.

This past weekend God poured rain on our thirsty Central California foothills. And as clouds opened and winds blew Friday night, the power went out. Two fires started on the electrical pole across the road from our house. The Preacher saw them after going outside to check on things. In the dark and pouring rain, they were hard to miss. Sparks flew (and some bounced?).

We called the electric company and fire department; then sat by the window watching the show and waiting for help to arrive. (No, I didn’t take pics. Wish I had, though.)

The next morning we were still without electricity. Thankfully it wasn’t too cold inside or out. But a fire in the woodstove was necessary this time for two reasons: warming the house and heating water for coffee. Amazing how drastically modern life changes without electricity! No hot breakfast to linger over as we do most Saturday mornings. The Preacher grabbed the bag of apple chips and munched on those for breakfast.

Some mornings time rushes by, and it’s halfway to lunch when I realize the bed and I are still not dressed. But on this quiet weekend I made an executive decision to stay in my pajamas and robe and slippers.

Pajamas-boyPajamas-girlPajamas-siblingsCozy, comfy, warm. Being it was too wet to work outside, I was content to stay inside.

Without internet, our phones kept silent, and laptops stayed shut. We pulled out actual books and pencils and paper to study with, and I worked on organizing my latest project.

Without electricity, time slows. No more running on fast-forward. I could almost feel the minutes ticking, stretching, allowing me to immerse myself, to actually start and finish within the same 24-hour period.

By lunchtime we had power again. I stayed in place at the over-sized coffee table with my pencil and papers. Old-fashioned, maybe, but tangible… productive… how exhilarating the feeling of accomplishment is. Even in pjs.

At church the next morning one of our deacons mentioned how he almost came over the day before.

Oh, my! began my silent prayer of thanks. Thank You, God, for changing his mind!

That’s when I made another decision.

No more pajama days for me!