I Am Not the Savior

I am not the Savior

I sat in his office, my body wracked with sobs. I went through quite a bit of Kleenex. Thankfully, he had a whole box. I couldn’t speak very clearly through my tears. Emotionally, physically, spiritually, mentally – I felt like I was drowning. My husband and I weren’t communicating well. Someone I knew was about to make a choice that terrible for her soul. A fallen-away Catholic, she also put me in the incredibly uncomfortable position of explaining to her non-Catholic spouse exactly why it was considered sinful, and now they were both angry with me. My sister was in nursing school and was struggling to get good sleep and good nutrition. Her health has always been a challenge, so this was a lot for her body to go through. My brother was in his sophomore year of college, and still struggling to adjust to college life. Another brother was going through teenage challenges. My life at work was difficult due to a lack of direction and poor communication. I was a wreck, and I knew it, so I’d finally made an appointment with my pastor. Which brings me back to the sobbing.

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Running On Empty

I’m the kind of girl who plays Russian roulette with her gas tank. You know what I’m talking about, right? The game where you try to see how far you can go before your gas actually runs out, versus what that silly pessimistic needle tries to make you believe? It drives my husband – a very Type A, methodical, former soldier – batty. I will admit that on more than one occasion, we’ve had a spirited “chat” when he’s gotten in the car to go somewhere (running late, of course, because kids) and the needle isn’t just AT Empty, it’s BELOW Empty. I will also concede that it’s more than a little inconsiderate on my part, too. Almost always, my deviant behavior stems from the overwhelming desire when I’m in my car to just get HOME ALREADY, be it from work, the grocery store, or soccer practice.  I despise adding one more stop on the way home.  It’s not that I don’t believe the needle; it’s more like I believe I am smarter than the needle.  I’m well aware of the fact that without fuel, my minivan ain’t getting’ anywhere, no matter how many Rosary bumper stickers are plastered on the backside. In all the years I’ve been driving, the needle has only outsmarted me once.

Until last week.
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