Drying Out

This week's been a bit of a ride, and I'm realizing more and more that if I do not guard my time and carve out significant space for prayer, study and reflection, molehills turn into mountains.

Occasionally I have to bear in mind I'm an introvert. I can't go to two parties in one weekend because large groups of people exhaust me. The difficulty is finding a balance between loving my friends and being social and giving myself a migraine. Had I not been set on the IKEA pilgrimage or volunteered to "cook" 60 hot dogs for the Super Bowl, I think I would've been alright.

I digress. The real kicker this week was the flood. I came home Tuesday evening with the intention to work out, read for class and then prep the Bible study for small group the following night.

I came home to find ice on my balcony. That's odd, I thought. Why is there a skating rink on my balcony? I stepped closer for a better look. And then I heard it. Trickling water, the soft sound of rain; only it wasn't raining. It was dripping from my ceiling in my living room, bedroom and roommate's closet. It was sopping my carpet. It was ruining pictures and college diplomas, and a stack of notes for class. It was warping cheap furniture. It was thoroughly freaking out my cats.

After cursing, grabbing a handful of towels, forgetting the towels and resorting to moving things out of the way, I just cried. I cried because I couldn't respond the way I wanted to. I wanted to respond with grace, with appreciation that nothing significant was destroyed that couldn't be replaced, with gratefulness that we were some of the lucky ones who did not lose everything. I wanted to not yell at the apartment landlord when they wouldn't at least rip up the carpeting and padding to prevent mold. I wanted to not breakdown and cry. I wanted to be sweet and pleasant and kind and nice. Instead, I was a wreck. I drank wine and at chocolate to cope. I yelled at a friend. I had a phone conversation with another friend that I barely remember because I was too upset to care about what they were saying. I came into work and sat at my cubicle and cried because I didn't have a Bible study prepped and hadn't prayed in days.

And then I did the only thing I could think to do. I asked for prayer. This was a huge ding in my pride. I have little difficulty asking for prayer for scholarships, jobs, decisions, even pesky habits like a poor attitude at work. But to admit that my reaction to a situation was worse than the situation itself, to be vulnerable with my raw emotions and responses; this was a challenge, a test of where my trust truly lies. Was I going to let go of myself enough for G-d to show himself? Do I really trust that He can change me, even when my circumstances don't change?

I'm thankful to say that He did, and in small ways that not only allowed me to actively participate in adjusting my attitude, but fit my personality such that it was restorative. My boss was gracious enough to send me home yesterday so that I could sort through the mess. It sounds silly to say that I started by cleaning, but those who know me well know that this is therapeutic, and having things in as much order as possible was comforting, as well as practical. I rearranged furniture to make better use of the livable space left. When I was done, instead of succumbing to my desire to take a nap, I finally took time to pray. I took a shower, and prepared the Bible study. I read a book. I felt renewed.

Now I'm dried out, both from my negative attitude and literally (the carpet is dry!). I'm sure I will not always respond the way I'd like to stressful situations. But I'll be better prepared, and have the memory of His care this time around.