It’s been a hard week.
For several reasons, most of which are not appropriate blog material, as I don’t prefer to use this as my diary. But that’s never stopped me before.
My younger sister left for discipleship training school with YWAM on Friday. She will be gone until May and right now and that sounds like infinity.
My older sister and I are fighting. It’s not looking good.
Two of my sisters in the non-familial sense are going through very hard break ups. Their hurt is palpable.
I was reprimanded at work yesterday for something I do not feel I deserved to be reprimanded for. Which, I’m sure you’ll agree, is the worst kind of reprimanding. I cried in the bathroom, which didn’t feel very professional.
This morning, I woke up prepared for the worst, with the thought that life has been hard for the last week, why would the trend stop now? (How quickly I disregarded the previous 10 to 12 weeks, which had been good to excellent. My capacity to forget is astounding).
I showed up for my Wednesday shift at the Alpha Center, the pregnancy crisis center I volunteer at a couple times a week, prepared to keep my head low, answer the phones and then relocate to somewhere safe to wallow as soon as I could.
My plan was quickly foiled. As I walked in, the staff greeted me with shouts of happy birthday and a huge pile of bagels. They proceeded to give me a card with well wishes, and then serenade me with a less-than-musically-sound version of Happy Birthday.
Despite the fact that it was not my birthday, and that I hate being sung to, nothing sounded sweeter.
My bagel was a C before I realized that something had changed. That backpack full of troubles (which, I admit, in reality are relatively trite) was no longer on my shoulders. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t gone. But I had found a warm place to put it down for a time, while I refueled and remembered who I was.
I knew, when I left, that I wasn’t the only one carrying it anyways.