You know the feeling, I’m sure. You’re an octopus, with so many tender tentacles dipped in shallow tide pools on the beach. The water levels are uncertain, all changing. Your tentacles are dangling like participles in the air, waiting till they can get back into the water. Will you dry out before the tide rises again? Perhaps the tide has just gone out. You know it will come back in, but watching the ocean recede for six hours before it can rise again is killing you.
That was April and May for me.
Now I’m on the other side of things. I am swimming in new seas: working at a new hospital and planning the next school year. I have given away some of my hats, including handing over the reigns of our church’s children’s ministry to a gifted, committed friend. A (different) friend’s baby, for whom I was keeping watch, has arrived safely. Sam and Jonah had a blast traveling, and now all my chicks are back in the coop.
The water has moved back up the beach, and all my arms are submerged again. I’m busy in a good way, instead of fretting over a future I can’t control.
Where is your tide these days? Too high? Going out? Swamping the tide pools on the beach?