So, I haven't dropped out of school...or moved to Australia, even though it sounded pretty good Thursday. I woke up at 2 a.m. Saturday morning and could not go back to sleep, all in a panic about my Brit Lit midterm. The more I thought about it, the more I KNEW I had failed. I didn't want to go to class this morning. I didn't want to face my professor. What if she said something to me about it? What if she didn't? I didn't want to know my grade. I wanted to pretend it didn't happen and move on.
I had to ask myself, what would it mean if I didn't get an "A" in this class? Would it mean I was a failure? Would it mean I couldn't be a good writer? I have friends with their baby in ICU. Another friend whose husband is in Afghanistan and may be deployed again next year. People around me - people I know and love - are hurting and I'm losing sleep over one silly exam. An "A" in British Literature suddenly lost its significance and I found myself humbled.
It's hard to shift the focus sometimes, from what makes me happy, to what makes those around me happy. And even harder to dig down so deep I lose sight of myself completely and can give from a place that is real and unaffected.
Pray for this beautiful boy.
Pray for my friend, the military wife, who has been raising two kids on her own for a year and faces the possiblility of doing it again.
God help us.