Day 199

Within the last couple of weeks I've grown so miserable.

Something inside of me is being ripped.

And it's leaving a gaping hole in its tracks.

But what is it?

I have friends.  Friends who make me laugh, who listen to me complain, who encourage me, and who sit beside me in the moments I need them the most.

I have a church.  A Biblical, God-fearing, God-aiming, people-loving-and-edifying church.  The very thing I searched for, for so long I have.

I have a home.  An apartment that I can come home to and relax in solitude.

I have a job.  A job that pays the bills and doesn't drive me crazy.

I have self-worth.  The OYC has given me so much.

...and yet, here I am, feeling emptier than I have in a long, long, long time.

And insatiable hunger...but for what?


And this hunger leaves me angry.  Unforgiving.  Condemning.

Just what is this feeling I'm feeling, and how do I overcome it?

Day 53

Take advantage of me.

That’s what I feel like my girly appearance exudes when I walk into a body shop.

Of heels, hair, and makeup, I know…well, little, but of cars, I know far less.  And because of this, nothing spikes my anxiety more than when my check engine light blinks on.  It laughs at me, mocking me with its hideous shade of orange.  Like a flea on a beloved pet, I hate it.

And this little tick has popped up, on and off, over the span of these last two months.  At each showing, I would lean over my dash and pray.  I would pray, pray, pray that my car would magically fix itself—that the warning sign would fade and things would be okay, like magic.  And it seemed to work.  For a time.  Then its ugly shape would suddenly reignite.  And prayers would ensue.  And it would disappear.  Repeat prayer.  And, finally, on its fifth presentation, I sucked in a deep breath and handed my keys over to my mechanic.

Within an hour, he told me how the ol’ girl was ailing.

A leaking power steering hose and a broken thermostat.

I wearily gave him the OK to fix her, and within a few hours, she was off the operating table.  I greeted her with a smile, and we trooped home.  I listened eagerly to the gentle hum of her engine.  No distracting music.  No discouraging orange light.  Just her and me.

At home, her familiar parking space awaited our arrival.  I parked, turning the key off in the ignition.  I breathed deeply, and it felt like my car exhaled, too.

You need a break, girl?  I almost asked out loud.

Maybe I was talking to more to myself than the car.  I sighed.

I sure do feel like I’ve lost my power steering, struggling to keep myself in the right direction, and dying not to overheat from being overwhelmed.

My Mechanic looms over my weary hair-pulled-back, make-up-smeared, exhausted self, and seems to ask, “And why haven’t you given Me the keys?”

He sees me; here I sit, praying, praying, praying that things go away, that they'd fix themselves...that I'd fix me.  Magically.

Today I prayed to God for the end of these 312 days.  As if at the end of them my need Jesus light would automatically turn off. And, magically, without effort, things would be okay.

Looking at my receipt, you know what the most expensive part of today was?

The labor.  Hhhhhhhhhhhhmmmm.

But I know the labor is what’s going to get me where I need to be.  A power steering hose and a new thermostat are useless if left sitting on the countertop of an auto-shop.  And they're even more useless in my hands.

They need to be in the hands of a mechanic.  The Mechanic.

An otherwise useless piece of metal becomes valuable through His hands.

Put yourself in My hands, He urges.  Stop trying to steer on your own.  No wonder you’re overwhelmed.

Can’t have a car that works well without the maintenance—without the hours, without the labor, without trusting a trustworthy mechanic.

And I can’t have a God-centered, faithful heart without the like.