Roll with it

I think this year I am going to have to learn–or continue to learn–or learn better–about “rolling with it.” Not “frantically trying to keep up.” Not “doing what I have to do.” Not “letting the day live me.” Rolling with it.

Today was the first day of online classes, and hypothetically, I was going to get up early and pound out a lot of work. Because the idea is to get so far ahead in my online classes that once I’m doing that by the time all of my classes start, I won’t be rushing around and stressing.

Instead, I was still out of sorts from a giant move-your-grandparents operation over the weekend, and instead of dutifully doing homework all afternoon, I spent it tearing through my grandparents garage being nagged and guilted and complained at by my grandfather with Alzhiemer’s who kept insisting it didn’t matter if I didn’t find his medication, he just needed his computers.

So my plans for the day failed. By extension, I feel like I’ve failed the whole semester, and possibly ruined and future education plans. Yes, I am very tired.

But I also realize that I didn’t fail. I didn’t ruin. What is life, if it’s not giving yourself a tension headache while caring for your grandparents? And did I not just resolve that I was going to learn how to rest and take care of myself? Why shouldn’t I be tired after a marathon moving weekend?

Grandma and Grandpa are now 10 minutes away, practically neighbors. They will be wildly unpredictable in their need for help. I won’t have control–through this semester, through these wild, crazy changes I hope will take place over the summer. What can I do but enjoy the ride?

That sounds like fun, but it doesn’t come naturally. It doesn’t come naturally to let go. It doesn’t feel natural to laugh through the pain. The tension headache is normal. . .expected. Rolling with it. . .the good intentions are gone in five minutes. What’s the point?

The point is, God loves me, and pours out His love through me, and that is what I need to not lose sight of. Not even with nagging, mentally ill grandparents. Not even with headaches and ruined plans. He goes before me. . .He comes behind me. . .He’s all around me. Open my eyes, that I may see. . .

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