Those who trust in the Lord are like Mount Zion, which cannot be shaken but endures forever. As the mountains surround Jerusalem, so the Lord surrounds his people both now and forevermore.
Ps. 125:1-2
Stress always rises from the unhappy meeting of limited time and lack of control. When there's no deadline, stress cannot thrive. When the whole thing is completely in my hands, stress has nowhere to land. But when a task or duty is limited by time (the due date of the bill, or the day the milk runs out and you need more) or by the control you can't seem to gain (nobody answering at the 1-800 number, though you call and call), stress multiplies.
This week, stress kernels popped like popcorn, starting small but filling up the days till they overflowed. Pete volunteered for VBS this week, so dinner had to be early every night and I had to manage Henry's bedtime routine myself, an hour of the day I'm always grateful to share with Pete. Work was hectic with some overhaul of our marketing materials, shuffling of classrooms and furniture and books, meetings, the usual enrollment and billing paperwork, and records management, plus one whole morning when we didn't have internet and so were unusually hampered in our ability to actually get work done. I had a busy weekend to think about, and preparations to make for our upcoming vacation. I couldn't catch up on enough sleep and I lacked the energy to get ahead on my to do list.
As I thought about the things that were stressing me out, it became very clear that time was the common denominator. I didn't have time to complete all these tasks. Things were spiraling out of control because days were rolling by without sufficient items accomplished. If I weren't hurtling toward the last day of my life (which, truthfully, we all are), if there were no boundaries into which life needed to squeeze, I wouldn't feel stress. Instead, I'm trying wildly to snatch pieces of day back, to hold onto a few moments and make them useful before they're gone. At the same time, I feel myself seeking a plateau, a resting rock along the path that's firm and secure and doesn't require anything of me. I want to take a nice deep breath. I'm waiting for life to get easy.
But it doesn't. And that's not meant to sound fatalistic. It's just that life doesn't work that way. Christ gives us grace for each moment, strength for each small task, peace in every wait. He removes the need to hurry, the sense that it's urgent. He gives something better than a short break. He offers a perpetual rest, a current of calm that can backdrop my day even when the demands of life don't slow down. He's not limited by time. As this week ended, I took comfort in that. These seven days, which elevated my blood pressure and spouted grey hairs, did not bother the Lord. He had these days written in His book long before they arrived on my calendar.
Time's a funny thing. We watch days roll in one at a time, like marbles down a chute, piling in a heap at the bottom. But really they're all lined up already, all organized, all arranged for the best possible outcome. Anxiety comes from the illusion that I can do something about their arrangement. Which brings to mind a quote from The Fellowship of the Ring, a scene in which Gandalf is encouraging Frodo who's quite distressed by the situation he's in. "That is not for them to decide," he says, referring to those who live through difficult times. "All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us." Most of life is out of my control. And time is always a hindrance. So the choice is mine daily: allow stress and worry to claw their way in, or choose the perpetual peace?
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