What were you doing today at 7:14 am?

I know what I was doing.

I was sobbing almost uncontrollably in my car on 270, unable to find one single stinking napkin or tissue (oddly enough, one of the side-effects of being gluten-free; I almost never eat anything from a drive through, so how do I keep napkins in my car?) and feeling very grateful that daylight savings hasn't ended yet so that the other drivers around couldn't see or notice me. Not that they would have cared. I'm pretty sure anyone on 270 at 7:14 am any given day pretty much despises everyone around them and would willingly, joyfully, ram into any car near them if there were no negative repercussions. Tears, really, should be expected on 270.

Anyway, it's been a rough week.

Focus on the Family aired a quick two-part series on an incredible family who has adopted six kids and who work together with equine assisted therapy. The family was actually on Extreme Makeover: Home Edition not too long ago. But as I listened today, I teared up first for the sweetness of it all, then next in frustration and anger. I literally cried out in the car, through my tears, "Why are You making me listen to this?! I want what they are doing so, so much, but we truly can't have that right now. Why, why, WHY are torturing me with this, in the most wretched part of my every day?!"

When a series of unfortunate events enters into life, it's easy to be discouraged. Disheartened pretty much sums me up lately. It's easy to lose sight of dreams in the midst of that kind of season. The drudgery of hearing that blasted alarm every morning earlier than your tired and achy body is ready; the battling of concrete and metal and honking horns to get to work; the slams of frustrating conversations or negative emails; the news that something isn't going as well (or even remotely close) as you thought; the constant wonderings of if, when, how, who; the lack of encouragement or notice or thanks; these little things pile up and wear away, like grains of sand brushing against wind-blown rock.

One of my classes got into a pretty deep theological discussion this week about the affect of sin in the world. I brought up the Second Law of Thermodynamics, the movement from order to disorder in our world. That feels like my life lately. A little chaotic. Not quite what I had in mind. I think anger and frustration are pretty natural reactions when you hear your dreams broadcast (literally) through the voice of another person, when in the midst of your disappointments and frustrations little voices are sneering, "You will never reach those dreams. You will never be well enough for that. You can't do what those people are doing, no matter how much you want to do it. You aren't enough, no matter what you think or feel or hope. Let it go."

That rock analogy was intentional. My life is built on rock, and that rock is the hope of Christ. In Philipians we are reminded that we can do all things through Christ who strengthens us. And while my heart believes that God has the authority and power and might to do anything through even the weakest of vessels, I sometimes am paralyzed by the fear that I am just too weak to allow Him even to work through me. My hope is that the grains of sand are slowly smoothing me into something more beautiful with each passing day, each joy, each sorrow.

So today, at the end of many parent-teacher conferences that were tremendous encouragements to my weary heart, I am reminded that each season of life is simply that; a season. Every season has its good points and its bad points, and before we know it a new one comes, full of new joys and experiences. Then we find ourselves missing the old season, even when it was so hard to get through the snowdrifts or the blazing heat or the pouring rain.

On Christ the solid rock I stand
All other ground is sinking sand
All other ground is sinking sand

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