The clock reminded me I only had 10 minutes to finish the order I was working on. And it had to be done today. Then I needed to drop off a check at the bank, make an Olympic record grocery run, fill my gas tank with fuel, and grab the kids from school.
My mind began to race. What was today? Wednesday. Track and Field day. Perfect. Later pick up time.
I finished my order, hit SAVE, and emailed it to the appropriate vendor. Now only two minutes.
I swiftly walked to the bathroom. Washed my hands. Of course, no paper towels. So I rubbed my dripping hands on my pants. Found my coat. Grabbed my scarf, lunch bag, and mountain of mail. Jogged to car. Oh stink! Keys might be nice. I ran all the way back to the office, huffing and puffing while mentally scheduling a time to exercise in my next lifetime. Located the missing keys. Sprinted back out to my waiting car. Hurriedly pulled out of the parking lot. Flipped on Christian radio for my daily micro praise-and-worship fix. Listened to three songs. Turned on Scripture podcast. Hastily attempted to learn something about God. Ugh. Traffic light seemed to be stuck on red. I mumbled. I groaned. Come on light. Turn green!
A verse floated through my mind:
Hmmm. My times. His hands. Clearly, whoever wrote that was not a mom! As quickly as I thought it, my heart called me out for my impatient foul mood. I sighed. You’re right, Lord. My day, my time, is totally in Your hands. I should be resting in You. You do a much better job running my day than I do. Adjust my schedule as You see fit. Amen.
The light turned green. I made it one mile, then hit construction central. All I could see ahead of me were gleeful gleaming red brake lights. I couldn’t help but chuckle. God, You’ve really got a funny sense of humor.
Yup. My times. His hands.