The Train Ticket

I think some of you could agree with me that change is often just as hard for adults as it is for some of our kiddos. The only difference is that when they cry and throw a fit because something happened they didn't see coming, we let them off (sometimes) with the statement, "Well, it's a change in routine. It's hard for little guys."

Truth is, it can be hard for adults, too, especially when it is at least somewhat outside of our control.

And let me tell you, I hate not being in control.

I'm mad at the sun, I'm mad at the people who try and tell me to be okay with it, and I'm mad that I apparently can't self-regulate well enough to have faith that it will turn out like I'm told it will.

I'm questioning whether this is happening because of some fault inside myself and whether this is all my fault. Or if none of it is.

I'm questioning if God is punishing me in some sadistic way. And reassuring myself that this is not the case. And that I still believe He has good planned for me.

I'm trying to tell myself not to be sorry or apologize or suppress the feelings of the things I need and want.

People love to distract themselves in times of change and pain. Why? Because it offers them some sense of control. But right now, I don't care about getting a beach body, or taking up a new hobby, at least not for distraction purposes. I'm not trying to run my heart into the ground. I'm not interested in "proving" something to myself or anybody else for that matter.

Maybe in times of uncertainty the best thing to do is what I try and teach my kids to do: identify and accept that you're feeling afraid. Offer those feelings of helplessness up to God and let me tell you, He knows. He already knows. He will give you the strength you need at exactly the moment you need it.

                                                                        ~

“At last we heard Father's footsteps winding up the stairs. It was the best moment in every day, when he came up to tuck us in. We never fell asleep until he had arranged the blankets in his special way and laid his hand for a moment on each head. Then we tried not to move even a toe. 

But that night as he stepped through the door I burst into tears. "I need you!" I sobbed. "You can't die! You can't!"

Father sat down on the edge of the narrow bed. "Corrie," he began gently, "when you and I go to Amsterdam, when do I give you your ticket?" I sniffed a few times, considering this. "Why, just before we get on the train."

"Exactly. And our wise Father in Heaven knows when we're going to need things too. Don't run out ahead of Him, Corrie. When the time comes that some of us will have to die, you will look into your heart and find the strength you need--just in time.” 

― Corrie ten Boom, The Hiding Place