When I went to bed last night, I cried into my pillow.

I suppose the stress I’m under is starting to crack the facade wide open. Of course, I haven’t been able to remember anything for months. I chalked that up to meds. I haven’t been able to sleep more than five hours. I chalked that up to meds, too, come to think of it. My stomach burns incessantly, so I eat a lot of yogurt, take a Pepcid prior to bed every night, and eat Tums like candy. I’m not sure how I’ve rationalized that away.

Denial-Land, although my favorite country, won’t let me keep permanent residence there. Occasionally the dictator of this fair land forces me back to Realityville.

I find I don’t much care for Realityville.

So I stared out the bedroom window with tears running down my cheeks, and hit upon an idea. There was this big powerful guy I knew once, before I decided somewhere along the lines that my own way was the best way. Again. Anyway, the big powerful “guy” hadn’t heard from me in a while, as is usual until I’m desperate.

And I prayed.

I have no sense of “beautiful” prayers - the kind all the seminarians regularly practice and the old folks recite at my church. The “oh Heavenly Father”s and Scriptural turns of phrase that make prayers lovely to listen to are well beyond the scope of my being when I am frantic inside, with tears on the outside.

My prayer was something like, “Please help. Give me a sign that I’m doing the right thing. I can’t pay my bills, I can’t borrow any more money, and I don’t know what to do. If You want me to find a new job, please make it very clear to me. I’m blind at the best of times.” And somewhere along the lines, I’m hoping the Holy Spirit took over. (”In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express.”)

As I gloomily stared at my commission screen on my computer this afternoon, someone walked into the branch. I couldn’t hear the conversation clearly, but I caught words like, “church,” “building,” and “invest.”

When he eventually left the office, I was in tears again. A presbyterian church has merged with another and sold the merging church building and property. The head of the financial committee wanted to know if I could help them invest the money. They had some ideas, but nothing set in stone. And could I come by their meeting on Monday?

Yes, I believe I’ll be there. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.

Trying to keep in mind Who’s in charge,

michelle