Giving Myself A Pep Talk

Allow me a moment to convince myself all is well.

Do not let your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.

 Stop allowing yourselves to be agitated and disturbed;

and do not permit yourselves to be fearful

 and intimidated and cowardly and unsettled.

 (John 14: 27, last part, Amplified Bible)

Me thinks I'm going crazy.

Maybe crazy is too strong of a word.

But for right now it fits.

My morning was all set for a round of papers regarding the Spanish and French colonization of the Americas, something that, next to the American Revolution and the Civil War, is one of my favorite subjects (not a Roman emperor involved!). I went grocery shopping early, thoroughly enjoyed my Starbucks Via and fried egg-n-cheese sandwich, and got a kick out of watching Hoda and Kathie Lee throw a beach party in the dead of winter. Satisfied that I had gotten my fill of the outside world, I fired up the computer and got ready to do some serious writing.

And that's when I saw the email.

And the craziness started.

And so did the prayer.

Actually, the prayer had already been taken care of; in fact, the last person I prayed for this morning was the very person the email was about. God works in mysterious ways. Nevertheless, a little more prayer never did hurt.

I'll go ahead and apologize for giving you this teaser and then not actually going into detail. Can we just say teenager and leave it at that? I suppose it's about time for this next round. It's been relatively quiet around here for a few days.

And so I've been mumbling to myself for the last hour or so. The Spanish and French are taking a backseat for a bit while I sort things out in my head. I mumbled while I threw in a load of laundry. Mumbled when I went out to get the mail. Mumbled as I puttered around the kitchen. In all of this incoherent nonsense, I've been trying to remember my teenage years.

It's all a strange blur.

Junior high only comes back in bits and pieces. I remember two girls at volleyball or basketball practice who made fun of a t-shirt my dad had given me. I am painfully aware of the day a boy thought it would funny to tuck toilet paper into the back pocket of my Jordache jeans. I remember the nasty water fountain that reeked of rust. I remember hating pre-algebra.

High school memories are a little happier. I remember having a job and a boyfriend and thinking that was all I needed to survive (hysterical laughter in the background of my mind). I remember mixed chorus and DECA and practicing for graduation. I remember hating Algebra I, flunking Algebra II, and only mildly disliking geometry.

Blurred memory or not, I guess I turned out all right. This too shall pass. Today's email was no world-stopper; just a medium-sized speed bump in the role of raising teenagers. Compared to the jumbo size we've seen before, I think we'll weather this one just fine.

You see how this works? I pray, I think, I write. I am perfectly calm.

At least until school gets out.