When It All Gets a Little too Much

I just survived a harrowing week. Tired beyond understanding, I napped more than normal and pushed through lessons with heavy eyes. Worry threatened my peace until Don had a realization last night, "I've been making you decaf coffee all week."

"Decaf coffee?" I stammered. "Are you serious? All. Week. Long?"

A wave of hope rushed through me. My life as I knew it wasn't over. It had just withered away, in part, due to a lack of caffeine.

However, before we blame Don, I have to explain. We hosted a small gathering of neighbors last weekend on our covered porch. Knowing the evening air might provide a chill, I purchased a bag of decaf coffee. No one drank the brew, so I stashed it high on a shelf for the next go round, with every intention of making sure my spouse knew not to use it for my morning pick me up.

But I forgot to tell him.

So even though I'd like to blame him for my misery, I can't. Instead, I relished my morning intake only hours ago, even though I was forced to consume a cardboard tasting, fake, stir-in, Folgers brew.  

Within thirty minutes, though, I relished that semi-shaky, caffeine induced,  hyped-up morning feeling. And hours later, I still feel strangely alive.

Ironically, while in my frail state of being, Eggs, our eight-month-old kitten, learned how to make me jump out of my skin. While minding my own business, getting dressed, folding clothes, etc., she would sneak under the opposite side of the bed, crawl over to where I stood, and ambush my toes from behind our bed skirt.

Even though I grew familiar with the routine, I shrieked every time. It's Halloween and I'm just not used to furry paws ambushing my toes from under my bed.

This is an innocent looking Eggs hanging out while I type.

Thankfully, when life thoroughly overwhelmed me yesterday and I couldn't fight through the fatigue, a thought hit me as I drove home. 

God was never in a hurry to fix things. He always took His time; was always in control; and even allowed His children to suffer for a greater purpose.

Abraham didn't father the promised child until he was was past his prime.

The Israelite's served the Egyptians for four-hundred-years before their release.

When they disobeyed, they wandered in the desert another forty years before surging into the Promised Land.

Four-hundred-years of prophetic silence occurred before Jesus was born.

And by golly, Jesus spent three days in the grave. Why not just an hour or two? Or a day?

I don't like waiting. I don't like suffering. But it grows us. It changes us. It was designed to move us beyond ourselves, by forcing us to lean into the One who gave His life to make ours worth living. 

So when I got home yesterday, I took a nap. A two hour nap. Tired to the bone, I put my worries on hold and remembered it's all in His hands anyway.

He's at work. Even if we don't hear about it on the news. Even when the people we love struggle. Even when floods wreak havoc and the innocent suffer. 

He's at work and we can rest, truly rest, assured He's got it under control.

So breathe. Take a nap. Play with your crazy kitten. Or savor a cup of caffeinated coffee. 

The big picture outlook is really more than okay.  



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