Yesterday I stumbled across a pin with 20 writing prompts for spiritual journaling. I’m a journal junkie, and obviously, a Pinterest junkie, so I couldn’t pass up a quick glance. Before I could double click, one prompt jumped right off the page and really made me think:
I have a confession to make.
Lately my desire to be in control of my life has far outweighed my desire to trust in the Lord.
Sometimes our battlefront is right here. In the few minutes of hot coffee we get to enjoy before the sun wakes up. In the chill of the dark, February morning air. In the quiet before the chaos of “Mom, where’s my other sock?!”
Board by board, nail by nail, and layer by layer of paint, our house was rebuilt. Those days in late May and June were agonizing, just waiting to be a resident of my own home again.
During this tough time I was finally able to come to terms with my depression as an illness. I began steadily taking my medication and practicing coping techniques. Occasionally, I felt like a child going through the motions of a silly song, but the truth is, these things helped.
By now, surely, the flames have spread to the living room. The Christmas tree with twinkling lights, the heirloom harp, our wedding photos and Bundle’s baby album…where is the cat?! Why aren’t they here yet?!?!
A million thoughts zapped through my mind like electricity, shaking my body, as I waited for the emergency responders to pull up and blast our home, our new-to-us, perfect, ready-to-grow-in home we’d purchased six months prior.
It happened in seconds. It felt like years. My finger fumbled around for centuries before I could dial the right numbers: 911. The flames completely had engulfed every part of our kitchen. I could see the smoke pouring out of our garage and leaking through the roof.
This is not happening. This kind of thing does not happen in real life, not to us!
But isn’t that the thought that always enters our minds when tragedy strikes?