I’m a little ashamed to say this. Well, a little ashamed, and a little not ashamed because I think that everyone, at some point or another has come to a point in their day where they have been asked so many questions and told to put so many things on their already obese “To-Do/Must get done yesterday/Critical/Highly important/Direct order from the President” list that all one can do is think of their choice of cuss word over and over while debating whether or not anyone would find them in that random closet just around the corner from their desk in their big, cushy corporate America-ish office lame cubicle.
Yes, friends. It’s one of those days.
I am not going to share with you my choice-four-letter word because 1) I don’t even like the fact that it comes to mind 2) I am well-aware of the fact that my parents or younger siblings/cousins/Sunday School students may very well read this one day and 3) because it’s just inappropriate BUT I would be lying if I said that it hadn’t come to mind, oh, at least 349,300,042.569 times today. Yes. Exactly that many times.
I want to know when it became okay for us me (fine… I’ll use “me” but I KNOW FOR A FACT that there are those of you out there thinking the same thing…) – Like I was saying, I want to know when it became okay for ME to let my job – whether good or bad – determine how I felt about the rest of my life. (While we are on this subject, I would like to know who decided that a 8-hour-a-day, 5-day-a-week workday was anything close to appropriate/a good idea/reasonable/Doctor-approved. I think that it was Henry Ford… really, I think it was him.) Lately, it has taken over my brain… stopped me from sleeping… and given me anxiety attacks – and let me tell you – my salary (while I am VERY thankful and fortunate enough to even have one) does NOT merit any sort of thinking-pondering-control-over-my-brain after 5 p.m. on any given day of the week.
I have been trying to tell myself to take a step back and look at the bigger picture… compare it to something else that at the time, was devastating, but somehow I overcame, survived, and am now here to talk about it… LIKE, for instance, 3rd grade when I had a teacher that you hear about when telling horror stories at 3 am at a birthday party-sleepover. I remember going up to school to see who my third grade teacher was going to be and reading Ms. Smith (names have been changed to protect the teacher who really is a fine person but just have a bad wrap because she actually disciplined/had control of her class). When I read my name on the wrinkly piece of paper taped haphazardly on the window, I pretended like I fainted. My mom told me to get up and act my age – you know, along with that look, like if you don’t get up I am going to make sure you know acting like this was a really bad idea and then we’ll also make you tell your dad. I got up but proceeded to tell her that it must be a mistake, there must be two almost-third graders with my name and that maybe it was time for my dad to put in a transfer to a different bank so that we could move – and I could go to a different school. My mom looked at me, rolled her eyes, dragged me over to the first grade class listings so we could see who my little sister’s teacher was and that was that.
I am here, so I survived, clearly, but I remember thinking that the year with Ms. Smith would never end, that I would be stuck in eternal-third-grade-hell, and that nothing – I MEAN NOTHING – worse could happen.
The thing about that situation – at least I knew there was an ending. It was ONE year that I had to “suffer” through – a character-building opportunity. The thing about being a grown up? You just don’t know. And the just “not knowing” leads to all sorts of questions and feelings of hopelessness – to feeling like you’re stuck in this miserable situation forever. So… I have been feeling this way. A lot. And, I don’t want to make it sound like I am not happy. I really am – there are things that could be different, sure, but for the most part – I am happy. But this ONE thing – ahem (aforementioned obese “to-do” list) – is enough to make me almost insane, sometimes.
The good thing: this isn’t forever. It may be one month, one year, ten years (I hope not) or seventy (let’s be honest, it may kill me before then) but even seventy years isn’t forever. In fact, to God in Heaven – where I will spend my eternity – seventy years is like a split second. So… for all of those who are sick of whatever situation you’re in – and I know that there are a lot of you in far more pain than me – let us take hope in the fact that our God is awesome. He’s bigger than us. And THIS TIME that is so not fun or even miserable is really only a speck of dust for us – that one day we will have no more pain, no more suffering, no more crying, no more unhappiness, no more “let me just get through this year/month/day/hour/five minutes.” We will be living with our Jesus, our Father, and experiencing love that we can’t comprehend.
Happy Wednesday.
