I Can't Do Nothing!

"You have several options," my doctor said kindly.
"But the best option," I said, "is to move. This is the plan. I have already started packing. I can move all our belongings to a new home in the next three weeks, have the surgery I need, recuperate for a few days, unpack, settle, and get my son started at his new school by August 13th."
"You... could do that," he said.
"You don't think I can?"
"I don't doubt your ability," he said. "But you need to realize there is more than one option."
"Very well." I scribbled 'Scenario #1' in my notebook. "What other option do you see?"
"You could do nothing."
"Come again?"
"Nothing," he said kindly. "You could not move. You could rest, in your home, for the summer while recuperating from - let me remind you - major surgery."
"I don't understand."
"You could do nothing," he went on, "and find another school option for your son."
I stared at the blank page. "What is this... 'do nothing' of which you speak?"


 Of the Seven Deadly Sins, I have never feared Sloth. I have feared Murder often, as when something gets in the way of my plans. And speaking of plans....
   
   I was going to move to Mooresville this summer. I was going to take Life by the throat drag it along after me while I gathered new piano students, sold a house, unpacked the china, chased the children, and prepped for my son's first year of school. *sniff!*
    I was going to do a lot of things.
   The only way that I learn, apparently, is for the Lord God to smack me with a 2x4. This week, I am picking the metaphorical splinters out of my teeth.
   On Wednesday, I took my children to church, and met with the babysitter who kept them busy while I decorated a room for VBS (with wall decals that I created myself). I met with my co-teacher, divided up the work for next week, cleaned up the debris, gathered the children, made a quick stop to deliver cookies to a friend, and grabbed Wendy's on the way home. Then I put my daughter down for her nap, left Spiderman to play chess with the babysitter, scrubbed the kitchen, tidied the downstairs, vacuumed, and showered in the twelve minutes remaining. Then I woke the daughter, loaded everyone back in the car, dropped the babysitter off with many grateful thanks, took the children to play at a friend's house, came home, and finished preparing for my piano lessons. Then I taught the piano lessons (and not like a brainless maniac).  And while I ate leftovers, I cleaned the upstairs bathrooms and picked up the kids' rooms because the realtor arrived to look over our house at seven. Then I looked over the paperwork, put the children to bed for the night, talked over our options, baked cookies, fed and thanked the realtor, waved goodbye when he left at nine, poured myself a glass of wine --

    -- and burst into tears.

   My dear husband had the good sense to stay on the far side of the kitchen.
   "Would you like a hug?" he asked.
   "NO!" I shouted. "I - am not - sad! I am angry!" I remembered that I needed protein and grabbed a knife and the cheddar.
   "Um..." he gently took it from me. "Let me slice the cheese all right?"
   "Ok-ay," I sobbed.
   "Why are you angry?"
   "Because!" I started to wave angrily and realized I ought to put the wine down first. "I can't do it all! I can't do everything in the next three weeks!"
   "I see," he said.
   "We are going to have to stay here another year!"
   "That does seem to be the wisest option."
   "I was okay with this stupid surgery!" I bawled (for new readers, let me explain that I am not a pretty crier. If you have ever seen a tomato sweating, it's about the same thing). "It was taking away my options, but NOW!" I hiccuped. "Now, it's messing with my - SCHEDULE!"
    "I see," he said, offering the cheese. "Let's go sit down."
    "I'm not sad yet," I fumed. "I'm still angry. My son won't get to go to the private school, and it's all my fault because I needed a surgery!"
    "I will point out, for the record, that your hysterectomy will in no way be your fault," the dear man said. "Spiderman will be just fine. He's not even five yet. We can home school for a year and reevaluate next year."
    "And you'll still waste two hours every day stuck in traffic! We were supposed to move so you wouldn't have the same awful commute for another year!"
   "I don't mind."
   "Well, what am I supposed to do?" I asked the universe in general. "What am I supposed to do... just... do... NOTHING?!"

    I really hate losing control. I hate crying, raising my voice, and spilling wine on the linoleum. What I want to be is that woman whose godly spirit shines through even in the worst of trials. Instead, I find that all it takes to bring the sin of Anger out of me is for circumstances to mess with my carefully laid plans.
    I write this, not to beg for your sympathy, but to beg you to whack me with a 2x4 when I start to slip into hubris again. Because the sin the Lord hates first, according to Proverbs, is Pride. I cannot seem to learn what it is to let go of my pride and ask only for faith for each new day, but I am very certain that my God will not stop teaching it to me.
   So pray with me, and for me, that I will learn whatever lesson I must (because I'm really, really tired of having surgery. The hospital apparently does not have a 'Buy Three surgeries, Get One Free!' policy).
   I won't really be doing 'Nothing'. I have a a son to read to, a little girl whose hair is in constant need of braiding, two cats who demand constant affection, a husband who appreciates my attempts at cooking, piano students who need to be scolded for their technique - the list goes on.
   Tomorrow, I shall not go "to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business "... because I will be busy teaching VBS.  More than that, I do not know what will happen tomorrow. I only know that, if the Lord wills, I will survive VBS. 
   And then I will survive the laundry and the coordinating of babysitters for a six-week recovery. And, Lord willing, I will survive the surgery and the long days of being stuck in bed. Lord willing, another year will teach me to bloom where I'm planted and will bring a host of blessings to our home.
   Don't whip out the address books, friends, because the Hodge B&B will still be here. At least, it is here for today. Lord willing.