reminded. again.

Some days I feel as if I am just about two steps away from some sort of mental breakdown.

(Oh, and some days I kind of exaggerate.)  I’m not exactly sure which is more true today though – the breakdown or the exaggeration.

Our green car, a gem of a vehicle made in the memorable year 1993 and featuring both a dented side door and bullet hole stickers placed on said damaged door by my husband, is currently in the shop.  And has been for over a week now.

Which makes us a one car family with three drivers needing to be at distinctly separate locations at least three days a week.

The green car, whom Riley has affectionately nicknamed Oscar, has some serious issues, apparently.  Brake pads with water in them.  Oil that is spilling and spluttering.  A gasket that’s damaged or a cylinder or some small car part that matters a lot apparently.  To the tune of over five hundred dollars.

And after waiting at the repair shop with Riley for an hour, I was forced to leave her at the shop in order to drive to the vet’s office in a completely different town to recover Captain Ringo from his life-changing neutering appointment.

Riley had to stay so long she missed both an algebra class and her once-a-week volunteer program.

On the drive to the vet the good car, the only car that seats our entire family at the same time, began making a loud disturbing sound from the right rear somewhere.  Which sounded like a brake problem to my untrained ear.  Actually, it sounded like a money problem to my ear.

Which is what put me in the position of feeling about two steps away from the mental breakdown.

As I drove down the road to retrieve my small dog, across the sky I saw these giant pillars, these shafts of light breaking through the gray and the white of the clouds.

And it was sort of beautiful and it was sort of hopeful and I don’t even know, but maybe there was a message there but I wasn’t really able to listen.

I picked up Ringo from the vet and read the long list of “don’t do this” for our post-surgery pet.

Don’t let him get excited.  Don’t let him jump.  Don’t let him run.

Don’t let this wily, furry, bundle of energy run or jump?

That just seemed to add to the list of things that I have to do.

I have a dog that is just like my sons.  No slow switch.  All or nothing.

Additionally, the paper had a list that reminded me of a few facts.

Some dogs will eat voraciously when they arrive home following surgery, thus making themselves vomit.

Cool.

And then, over the whimpers of the dog in the backseat, over the depressing screeching sound coming from the car’s brakes, louder than all that, came the lyrics to a song.

“You are peace.  You are peace.  When my fear is crippling.”

My iPhone is on shuffle.

I am convinced that God controls the shuffle feature on my iPhone.

No, seriously.

Of that I am certain.

I’ve heard people say that God doesn’t care about the little things, but I disagree.

I think He cares about the little things.

Because I think the little things make up more details of our lives than the big things.

The minutiae, the details. That’s where I find God.

“You are peace.  You are peace.  When my fear is crippling.”

Instant conviction.  Instant reminder.

“I’m running to your arms.”

I have been running in another direction.

Not the opposite direction, exactly, but not towards any faithful arms of God.

I have lists for each area of our new house.  A notebook with a page designated for each room and small, not to scale at all, drawings of where to put the toaster and the clothes hamper and the table and the painting.  I have figures for how far each bench should angle from the wall.  (That’s not true.  I don’t use math on my lists.)

I’ve been doing that.

Fixing.  Planning.  Preparing.  Thinking.  Dwelling.

My mind is filled to overflowing with the next thing, the plan, the system, making it all work and seeing it all come together.

And it takes a day spent living close to insanity for me to realize –

I am wrong.

Again.

I still need to be still.

To stop.

Rushing.  Moving.  Trying to fix.  Trying to answer the what ifs.

And I need to begin my days not with a to-do list longer than my arm,

but with a peace and a time alone with The Maker of Right Now & Forever.