I didn't go, since our daughter didn't know the girl and I was dealing with my own drama that day. It was the first free day I'd had at home and I was all motivated to move heaven and earth (or at the very least, rearrange the dust around the house), and I woke up with a tension migraine. I was puzzled, aggravated and frustrated. Puzzled, because I'd had a massage the day before. Aggravated, because "how dare my body rise up in rebellion like that?!" (And after all I had done for it!) Frustrated, because I had no time to be sidelined.
You know what? I've spent the whole week griping about that. About how my weekend didn't go as I planned. About how I don't have time to do what I need to do and then, when I do have time, this happens.
Why am I still whining about this?
Because I don't like not being in control.
It makes me mad when I think I've orchestrated my circumstances to my specifications and a monkey wrench knocks them off kilter.
I fret because I know that another weekend will have to roll around again before I really have time to Get Things Done.
And then, there are a myriad of other things to fret over, so my mind turns thoughts over and over like so many worry beads.
Then I am reminded of the verse in Matthew 6:27 that says: "Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?"
I'll give it another shot this weekend. I'll do what I can where I can and leave the rest to another day.
And maybe I'll have time to make a cool necklace out of those worry beads.