Being Late Vs Right On Time

​Although I posted the blog below a year ago, I continue to struggle with the topic daily. 

Being Late versus Right on Time:

I am the first to admit I have double standards on my anxiety level when I am late leaving the house. If being late is due to my kids (rarely my husband) not being on time, my internal anxiety meter goes from 1 – 10 within two minutes. After two minutes being late from my designated departure time, I am huffy and felling disrespected. Rarely do I care about my children’s “excuses”. 

Yet, when I cause us (kids or husband) to leave after a designated departure time, I am as calm as can be. I just needed longer devotion time. Or maybe my last week’s favorite jeans weren’t fitting this week so I struggled to find something to wear. Sometimes I just lost track of time and truly had no justification. But, I am calm and with a huge smile, ignore those who are complaining about my untimeliness.

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Anxiety and Domestic Violence

​Last Friday morning (again this was a year ago) I planned to leave at exactly 11:00 a.m. to drive across the state to a women’s conference. I worked extremely diligently the day prior to ensure I was able to leave according to my schedule. I woke up ready and excited.

My boss had another idea about what I should be doing this Friday morning. He added this, that, and another this to my morning list of things to get accomplished. Anxiety hit me hard; how dare he impact my travel plans. 

As I text my husband that I am leaving 90 minutes later than planned, he cautions me to be careful with the rain. What! Rain and lateness. My anxiety is in full swing and I haven’t even started the almost six-hour drive.

Two hours into the drive I come to a complete stop on the interstate. Moving at a snail’s pace (and sometimes in park), over an hour later I saw why. Two semi-trucks, family van packed for vacation, and at least three other cars were flipped over and in various positions of destruction in both the left and right lane.

As I drove past the wreck and prayed for the people involved, I thought I heard a reminder: that my time line isn’t always correct. Yet, God’s time line is. Ouch.

There were two more horrific accidents after this one before I got to my destination. My five-and-a-half-hour drive turned into an eight-hour drive. I missed the opening night of the women’s conference.

God’s timing is always right on time:

After I post this blog I’ll probably never remember missing the first night of this women’s conference. But, what I will remember is this: God is in charge of the timeline of my life, not me. And His timeline is always on time. Often not to my liking, but for the good of His people. 

Struggling with waiting on God’s time line is something I struggle with almost daily. Through all my years of transforming from domestic violence victim to survivor, I almost always thought I knew when I was ready to move forward. I thought I always knew when the best time for me to begin the next phase of my recovery was. 

Yet, it was often in God’s waiting period that He provided the most character building events for me.  It was during those times of waiting, that He prepared and strengthened me for the next steps in my journey. Without these waiting periods, I surely would have stumbled a lot more in my journey to survivor. 

Update a year later:

I am so glad I reread this blog post! I don’t mind the fact that I continually struggle with my patience for waiting on God’s timeline; what I care about is that I am focused on improving my relationship with Him! It is okay with me that I am still working on this facet of my journey. 

I know reprograming my thought process’ is going to take a lot of time; for me the struggle is real.  One thing I know for sure, the journey has been (and continues to be) amazing!

Blessings to all,

Sue 

Sunday Nights Are Lonely Nights

​I used to dread Sunday nights. There was something about the weekend ending and the work week starting that created an anxious, stirring emotion in my gut.

Sunday nights without my children were even worse. I found, during the days leading to a Sunday night empty nest, that I would save tasks for these lonely nights. Somehow the Sunday night “to do list” always involved doing things I didn’t particularly enjoy, like going through the mail, changing sheets on the beds, or cleaning bathrooms. 

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