It could have been what seemed like the 400th phone call in three hours.
It could have been the smeared, greasy fingerprints on the bathroom wall I just scrubbed while balancing in my wheelchair in the bathroom a week ago.
It could have been the downpour just as I pulled my car into the parking space this morning meaning I would have an 8 hour wet and cold day until I could get back into the car this afternoon and crank the heater on high.
It could have been yet another problem at work.
It could have been my daughter’s frantic search for a lost item that was right in front of her the entire time that meant we were off schedule for the morning.
It could have been that it seemed as if every person who sets my teeth on edge felt the need to come into our department this week.
It could have been the broken cap and spray nozzle on the brand new can of air freshener just placed in the restroom.
My mind wanted to reason it was the air freshener being broken. But, even as I fought to reign in my temper and not throw the entire can of air freshener into the trash, or at the nearest head I could find, I knew it wasn’t the cap on the air freshener getting broken that was breaking me. It was all the straws. If ever I needed a few “mental health days” these are the days, yet taking them now is out of the question.
God seems to be speaking to me through these straws. For today is little different than any other day lately, except for perhaps the rain. I know I’m speaking to Him about them. Sometimes I’m not so sure whose question is whose. Is God saying, “It is enough yet?” or am I? Is God saying, “Come to me and rest” or am I asking, “When can I just throw up my hands and say, “That’s all folks!”? Is that voice in my heart His or my own?
So I quiz myself. “What is it I need and I’m not getting?” The list starts to itemize itself and I stop because it’s frightening.
It occurs to me, with another heavy thud from an even heavier piece of hay that each need is a straw too. It also disturbingly occurs to me that I’ve become a hay wagon instead of myself. The road I’m on is familiarly unfamiliar. There are many things about this leg of my journey I am unclear about. There are so many things and people begging for my attention that I can’t give anything or anyone what it or they need. I hear only an echoing mantra; “Get in line, get in line, get in line!”
Pulling off this highway an aged sign beckons me:
The Valley of Decision
Arrival Date & Time: 9/18/12 12:51 p.m.
This is where I am to be today.
The tires on my straw laden wagon make a swishing noise on the rain slick pavement as I wheel down the off ramp. The hay burying me beneath its weight and sliding into every conceivable part of my life makes me irritable and miserable because it scratches and itches and invades; demanding an audience! The tires plop on the road now as the air seems to ooze out in a final rush of hissing. Steam pours off me even as rain chills me to the bone. As I chug gingerly through the storm I see that piece by piece it seems I am leaving either a bit of my transportation or myself along this lap of this leg of the journey. Yet the straws remain though the winds furiously howl and whip around me.
This is only a pit stop…a refueling station…a rest area…just the departure date and time are left open…and God knows not only that but the next destination as well…