For more than one reason, the end of school last year was brutal. There was a lot of prayer, a little fasting, and a ton of grace involved in making it to the end. I made it, but I had a lot more gray hair when the year was over. This summer has been good; a time of renewal. I have prayed that things will be different, and I know that God can do wondrous things. But on the other hand, I am very much afraid of what He has waiting for me or what will be expected of me in the upcoming year. As bad as last year was, I can tell you in specific ways how this year might be worse.
I went to Mass this morning and stayed after for some quiet time. I talked to God about this. Intellectually, I know "be not afraid." I struggle to admit that the fear comes from a lack of trust that God knows what is best for me, and that whatever happens, He will be there. The "whatever" is where the problem is, I think. I don't mind carrying a cross, but I really would like MY way to be nice and smooth (so that it doesn't hurt to walk in bare feet) and I would prefer if the cross wasn't too heavy.
On the way home this morning, I snapped this picture. Yep, another interstate snapshot. I just set the camera on the steering wheel to steady it, point it in the general direction and hope for the best. Sometimes you get lucky. (If I had my other computer, I would crop out the power lines and make it a little prettier, but you get the general idea here.)
Do you think God is telling me that it will be alright - "whatever" it is? He will be there with me. Just a gentle reminder for one who finds it hard to trust the One who is all-good and all-loving.
I saw a rainbow last Tuesday, too. I was on my way home from the monastery, and very uneasy about my first flight before I even got to the airport. Sure enough, it was bumpy for about the first hour or so. I could see those big engines bouncing around on those 2-inch thick wings. On my second flight, though, I looked at the window back over the wing, and saw a rainbow. I knew it would be OK.
Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief.