When I was in college, my piano professor, Mr. Miller, had a handwritten sign in his office. It read "The same God who protects you from the flames of Hell ought to be able to handle this week's worries." I liked it so much at the time that I wrote it in the front of my Bible. And I still like those thoughts today.
The last week or so has been jam packed with things to worry about. Zeke had an appointment at Mayo to take off his cast which required an overnight stay and figuring out life for the rest of the cew while I was a away. Thursday was Thanksgiving, which we hosted. We decided we had just been gone too much and our kids needed us to stay home. So we invited others instead. My mom did a lot of the heavy duty cooking and others brought food to share but it still required a bit of thought and energy. We've decided that we need to finish a bedroom in our basement in order to solve the current issue of three big kids in one small bedroom. The current sleeping arrangements are somewhat like stacking cordwood, with Conleigh on a trundle in the boys' room and zero walking room once that trundle is out. Conleigh really needs her on space and we are hoping that having her own room will help with some of her finicky sleep habits. However, we only decided this in the last 2 weeks or so and the guy who is doing the work for us is going to be ready to start on Monday. (As in tomorrow. As in we needed to do some major reorganizing of the basement so that there was room to work. As in we needed to have a plan in place for exactly how much of the basement we would finish, what supplies we would need, etc.. As in I found myself at Menards on Black Friday trying to order supplies for an actual construction project while hordes of others were hurrying to buy cheap gloves, toys, and cooking pots.) Since our Christmas decor is currently stored in the basement, it also seemed pressing that we get it all out and get it up. (Lest you think I'm pulling off some amazing Martha-esque stuff-we have a very small tree this year, our nativity, three live poinsettias, and another predecorated tree on the porch.) Last, I've been sweating a bit about Zeke's finger. He is now castless and has a splint to wear when he plays and sleeps. But I am paranoid that it is starting to drift off to the side again. The cast has been off less than a week after 8 weeks of being casted. It should be just fine. But I can't help looking at it and feeling like it is not quite right. I don't know if the scar creates the illusion of being slanted or if it really is starting to drift again. I will be calling Mayo and sending pictures tomorrow but until I know for sure that this silly little finger is doing just what it is supposed to, it stresses me. Oh and did I mention that our car registration is up and it would not let me do it online so I now have to head to the courthouse to get that taken care of? Thankfully it's not like a big city where it can take hours but it's just one more thing I have to get accomplished tomorrow.
It's easy to feel overwhelmed by the to do list for tomorrow. Oh how my mind can fixate on the amount of stuff. It gets stuck, turning over each item despite knowing that this accomplishes nothing. Fretting and worrying are easy to slide into because fretting and worry are really just control dressed up in a fancy gown. Feeling like you have things under control is a soothing thing. Babies like pacifiers; grown ups like control. So the moment things start to slide, when the facade of control starts to crack a bit, it's easy to try harder to grab a bit more control or to just melt into the moment and cry.
But God's got it. He's already conquered huge, amazing stuff in the spiritual realm. Our pastor's Sunday message on Isaiah 53 need to echo a bit more in my ears.
Surely he took up our pain
God's plan of salvation for the world laid out through the cross-the piercing of His son, a movement of heaven and earth for me to be near my Creator. A crazy plan that turns death and the natural order of things on its head. The Godman steps down into my world and quite literally makes Himself a bridge, trampled on by many, worn down with each step, pushed down by our clamoring to get to the Father, but still a solid place to set your foot. Pierced, crushed, afflicted, punished, dead. But not finished. If He somehow manages to throw off death, if He somehow manages to cover my bare naked soul with His sacrifice, if He manages that, then He can surely handle the chaotic days of life on earth.