Angie climbed out of the red Corvette and grabbed her leather purse. Trying to picture what was on her calendar for the rest of the day, she hefted the two bags out of the back seat.
The thump of the door brought on a smile that enveloped her face. Love this old time beauty.
Clogs beside the door, a whiff of the fresh lilacs, padding feet to the kitchen, a huff of realization. I can’t keep track of anything. She deposited the groceries on the counter and pushed the screen open with a bang.
It was a good thing the travel mug was empty because the lid popped off when she yanked it from the holder. The gravel complained under the punishing steps of her return trip.
Any Hall of Fame pitcher would have filled the kitchen with applause the way Angie fired the cup toward the sink.
Then, hands fisted, she stalked over to snatch the misfire off the floor and stuff it into the dishwasher. This day is going from bad to worse. I need to get a hold of myself.
It hadn’t been such a stellar morning …
late for an appointment,
required signature at the PO for a past due bill,
a creased bumper delivered by a parking lot phantom.
The heels of her hands took her weight to the edge of the counter. Her head hung below her shoulders. Three deep breaths cleared a bit of the fog and she pulled out peanut butter and jelly. “Comfort food. That’s what I need.” The air caught her words.
Chuckling as she filled a wine glass with cold milk, she pulled out a cloth napkin and picked up the china plate. “Maybe a bit of fanciness will help.” As she set down her lunch the glass tipped and created a dairy puddle on the oak surface.
Fury ripped through her body worse than steam from a pressure cooker. Once again she fought for control.
Her brain couldn’t process the signals fast enough and she forced herself to hang onto the edge of the table to keep from flinging her food across the room.
When she got everything cleaned up she stopped to decide if she had enough energy to eat. She sat and stared into space. I have got to get myself back on track. Lifting her Bible and notebook out of the wicker basket, she thumbed through the pages. Oh, LORD. I’m so weary. “Where is that verse?”
A moment or two in the concordance and she flipped to the page and read aloud. “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”* Tears welled. Her chest tightened. “Is that really all I have to do to find rest? Come to You, Father?”
She sobbed. “Well, here I am. I’m pretty much a wreck. And even though I know Jesus traded His sinless life for my sinful one, I can’t seem to make any headway in that abundant life thing.”
Her eyes dropped and focused on the page. “Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”*
Her chin shot upward.
“Okay, God. I don’t get it. All this talk about yokes and burdens is hard to figure out. I just know I need you to teach me what I need to know, show me how I need to grow, and take me where I need to go. I need you to help me with that. Amen”
[bctt tweet=”What drives you to open your Bible?” username=”SandraALovelace”]
I’ll look for your answer in the Comments.
in His peace,
*Matthew 11:28-30 NIV1984