Monday, September 17, 2012

On Keeping calm (or not)

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This weekend was life-changing for me. It all started with good intentions, some house chores and plans of reading, seeking God and water colouring. As we had some furniture being delivered, it quickly turned into a must-get-it-all-cleaned-and-organized Saturday. After the fridge-repair guy stood us up, I was high strung to say the least. After the third time my dog peed on the kitchen floor, I was about to lose it.

But the good-girl in me kept going. The ironing hasn't been done yet, we have Bible Study tomorrow morning and don't get me started on the state of my shower. I just kept pushing, telling myself God would give me the strength to see it through. I knew something had to give, and I was stupid enough to decide to sleep in and give up the Bible study of all things. Part of me must have known I would wake up at 7 am anyway. Part of me felt I couldn't clean the shower because Sundays are days of rest. Yet, I made the worst decision possible and felt that somehow things would work out.

By 10:30 am on Sunday, instead of getting to learn about God's word at church, I started crying in front of my husband. I can't take it anymore. It's not fair. I don't deserve this. Sounds familiar? It does to me.

Usually I vent, cry, huff and puff and calm down. My husband makes me see rationality and reaffirms to me how much he loves me, how much God loves me, and I am ok. Not this time. I cried for over three hours. I sat down with my bible crying. I took a shower crying. I heated up some left-overs and ate crying. I laid in bed attempting to take a nap until my eyes were sore.

At some point, sitting on the floor of my guest bedroom with an endless stream of tears and no more strength to speak, I just gave it all up. I don't want to do this anymore, Jesus. You take charge. I expected to hear a resounding voice coming and comforting me. All I got was silence.

Eventually I managed to take a nap. I didn't get to hear what was preached because I was helping at the Children's ministry, but I heard the most beautiful worship service we ever had (I promise to write more on that soon!). I felt it was my duty to recognise God's voice somewhere, and felt lost for not being able to.

And then, before going to bed I continued reading Grace for the Good girl and read about the seed that must die in order to spring forth life. I was such a fitting metaphor for my day. I slept well, and when I woke up I was greeted with more words of grace:

"Again the one who looked like a man touched me and gave me strength. 'Do not be afraid, O man highly esteemed', he said. 'Peace! Be strong now; be strong'. (Daniel 10:18-19)

It turns out the worst decision I could have made took me to the one place where God wanted me: broken and ready for a fresh start. That surprised even little old me, who always  judged others for skipping church.