I’m curled up with my cream-colored plush throw to read in preparation for a High Calling book club discussion, when my daughter-in-law calls. My son’s vertigo is back, and he’s begging to go to the emergency room.

I sigh. Not again. When it happens, it happens out of the blue and keeps him down for a week. “Keep us posted,” we tell her.

I try to focus on “A New Story for Work” and “the gospel and medicine” and how doctors sometimes tend to get lost in their profession and how we tend to idolize them. I remember how as student nurses we were required to give up our seat in the charting area if a doctor entered the station.

My husband’s phone rings. “We need to go to the ER,” he tells me.

We’ve never been called to come for one of these attacks before, and my mother’s head goes all wonky. “Did she say why? Was she crying?”

“No.”

I throw the book in my purse, but there’s no reading to be done in the darkened room. And no room for extra worry, either. As it turns out, he just wants his mom, the nurse, nearby. And so the three of us chat in the corner, and he lies still on the gurney while the room spins.

My whole week spins.

I still haven’t finished the book or written that last post. And I’m frustrated. But I have to let it go.

It happens sometimes when life bumps us off balance with interruptions and God-appointments. We just have to let some things go. But I find myself fretting about procrastination and preparednessless. And someone gets a book contract and someone else a writing gig I’d love, but I’m buying chicken rice soup and yogurt, and my book notes are notebooked on the shelf, and my husband has no clean dress socks, and he accidentally overdraws the farm account, and the grandgirl needs new soccer shoes (for the game we showed up for a day early), and while she’s trying them on, we get news of a basketball camp that starts in 45 minutes, and she begs to go, and I take my second pair of ears to my son’s neurology appointment–a three-hour affair, and the fire needs wood, and my days go up in smoke.

And sometimes you’ve just got to let it all go.

So I curl up with my cream-colored plush throw and center myself in the Old Testament, listen to my audio CDs of the Chronicles and Ezra and Nehemiah because I’ve answered Margaret Feinberg’s challenge to read through the Bible in 40 days.

And the sun’s shining, and the snow’s melting. The starlings are back. I saw three black squirrels playing tag in town, and I can’t help but laugh at the cat who’s shot clean up the drapes and is hanging from the curtain rod. The grandgirl’s shooting baskets in the driveway, and winter is coming to an end. It always does.

And spring always comes. And no matter how crazy life gets sometimes, it’s a comfort to know that God’s ultimately in control. We can center ourselves in that truth.

 

 

 

 













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Sandra Heska King
PRAY EDITOR "Once a nurse, always a nurse," they say. But now I spend my days with laptop and camera in tow as I look for the extraordinary in the ordinary. I'm a Michigan gal, mom to two, grandmom to two, and wife to one. My husband and I live on 50 acres in the same 150-plus-year-old farmhouse he grew up in. I love this quote by Mary Oliver, "Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it." That's how I want to live. And I'm still learning how to be. Still.
Sandra Heska King

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