I have all these good intentions. And as many intentions as I have, I have just as many excuses why I’m not doing them now.
…after we move.
I’m going to get up and exercise…
…when I’m not so tired.
I’m going to eat better…
…once I’m done working and have time to cook.
I’m going to schedule in consistent quiet times, as well as consistent writing time…
…once my life gets a little less crazy.
I quit my job. Technically I’m still on-call, so I can pick up hours if I want to, but I’m done with the crazy overnight schedule that was killing me. That right there was supposed to solve most of my problems. Being tired, eating junk food because it was convenient, never having the energy to exercise. Yep. No more work. Problem solved.
Except, not so much.
I had all sorts of great plans for the weekend after I was done working. I hadn’t had a Saturday morning at home in six months, and I was looking forward to sleeping in, making a big breakfast, and spending the day doing something productive, like relaxing.
It started out pretty much as planned. I slept in, made a big breakfast, and…
Backstory: We had gone to the zoo for a friend’s birthday party the day before. No big deal, we go to the zoo all the time. Except that for whatever reason, this time it triggered a reaction in my son that, although not officially diagnosed, is probably asthma. He’s had times before where he’s had trouble breathing, like when he’s been exercising a lot or around a lot of animals, but usually it goes away and he’s fine after a little while. So the previous evening when he was a little short of breath, I didn’t think much of it.
Only this time it didn’t get better.
Late Saturday morning when he was still wheezing and having trouble breathing, I called our family doctor, and she suggested taking him in to the hospital (we have a really good children’s ER not far from our house). Well, to make a REALLY long day short, my husband took him in and spent the rest of the day there, and then I switched places with him in the evening and spent that night and all of the next day with him in the hospital.
Well, that ordeal over with, certainly my life could get back to “normal” and I could begin accomplishing things, right?
The next weekend we traveled out of town for a wedding in which everyone in my family was involved. My husband was an usher, my oldest son was a junior groomsman, my next son was a ringbearer, my daughter was the flower girl, and I got to be in charge of handing out programs and helping out the little people.
That was this past weekend. So. Now THAT’S done, surely I can be getting on with all these other things.
Except that we’re moving this weekend, and my house is only about 1/3 packed.
Okay. Now that I’m done making excuses, I can talk about what I’ve learned through these past couple of weeks.
Yes, of course there’s a moral to this story!
First, and most obvious, is there’s always an excuse. There’s always a reason to put it off, to not do what I’ve committed to do. I’m still a work in progress, but I have managed to set aside quiet times to do my Bible study nearly every day. I have, for the most part, cooked my meals instead of eating convenient fast food or junk food, and I’ve exercised, like, twice. So, little by little, I’m making progress toward the goals I’ve set for myself.
Now, on to the more obscure things I’ve learned.
I was talking to a good friend the other day, a proud atheist. We talked about his life, and that he’s constantly stressed and often depressed. Now, normally I’m pretty kind and not very abrasive with my faith, but in this particular conversation, I told my friend that it’s obvious why he’s depressed–he has no hope. He even said he believes life is essentially meaningless, and I told him that unless he has something to live for, some reason to believe that his life is pointing toward something, then it is depressing.
Even as I sat with my son in the hospital, watching him wheeze every breath and have drugs pumped into him from an IV, I felt no real worry or fear. I know he is in God’s hands, and that God will take care of him. And if, at some point, something happens to him, I know without a doubt that I’ll see him again.
As I work to pack up my house, I am reminded just how blessed I am. There is nothing that I need, and more than a few of my wants have been provided for. I don’t worry if I’ll be able to feed or clothe my family, because again, I’ve taken for granted God’s promise that not even a sparrow falls without His knowledge.
And in my writing career, even though I’m not where I’d like to be, and I haven’t put in the time that I promised myself I would, I know that God has a plan for the gift He has given me.
Yes, it will take work. I can’t just sit back and expect words to magically appear on my pages. All the good intentions in the world don’t make up for putting in the time and effort. However, I know that I am in His hands, and that I am working toward something. I can take comfort in knowing that my life isn’t meaningless, that all I do is pointing toward a bigger picture, and that the obstacles I encounter along the way will always be used for my good.