Stirring the Pot
I often–too often–forget that God doesn’t give me more than I can handle today. But sometimes it feels like he doesn’t know how to tell time very well because I’m dealing with way too much stuff in a single day.
Here’s my aha moment, though: Let’s say that God presents me with a straw-that-breaks-the-camel’s-back situation. But I think I can’t possibly take on one more stressful thing in this 24-hour-period. I am already maxed out and stretched thin. I’ve yanked out fists of hair, chewed off all my fingernails and ground my teeth to nubs. My eyes are the before picture in a Visine commercial. I am a mess and I tell myself so.
Then what happens? I become messier, more of what I believe I am.
Just when I think I can’t do any of it anymore, this thought crashes through the mess: I can shift that last camel thing, or any other thing that is causing stress, to another 24.
God may place all these growth opportunities in front of me but I don’t believe he shares my expectation that each one’s details needs to be dealt with today. That expectation rests solely on me.
I can shelve one or more of my stressors for a future TBD 24. I don’t have to deal with everything today.
Centered in Spirit, I am at peace.
I believe this life is about learning how to step around the poop I encounter instead of trying to pole-vault over it. I don’t need those dramatic responses any more even though my mind tries to trick me into believing I do.
Here’s the thing: I hang out with humans who do things that cause dervishes to whirl in my life. I am fully aware than humans have a morbid fascination with stirring the poop pot, but I can choose to step away from the cookstove. Say, no thanks, not today. I think I have enough stirring today. Please check back with me tomorrow and maybe I’ll throw myself into the fire then. But not today.



In July of 2009, I had an epiphany. For about a month prior, I was emotionally distraught, increasingly depressed and having serious thoughts of drinking again (after 18 years of sobriety).
I struggled to wrap my arms around what could possibly be wrong with me. I had all the trappings of a good life, one others would love to emulate--great job, dream house, traveling for a living, a life mate . . . the list goes on. 





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