Tedious Living

Last night I was driving to work and I realized that writing is my primary method of handling stress. I started writing again this week, so it got me thinking, wondering if I was actually stressed right now, because it often doesn't feel like I am, even though I am. I don't know if that makes sense, but it takes me a while to figure out why I get symptoms of stress. So in that fifteen minute drive, I thought things through. I'm stressed. Not by anything big like job-loss or sickness, but the little things that are supposed to be in place in life, the things that cause a person to be secure, aren't all secure right now.

There are too many things to list, and I won't list, lest you lose interest (tribute to bad poetry).

Like I said, it isn't a lot of stuff that directly affects me. It's stuff like my mom having knee surgery and making me realize that our bodies are tired and weak, and you only get one chance to do it right. And my brother and sister-in-law getting accepted to be missionaries in Kazakstan and planning to leave within two years. And my husbands grandparents who are experiencing the final phases of their lives on earth. And my best friend probably won't be single forever and have lots of time to invest in friendship with me. And other inconsistancies that shake my sense of security.

I don't feel hopeless or lost. I guess I just feel kind of... tired. There's always good that can spring out of bad, and even if there isn't, there's hope and belief in the goodness of God to carry and sustain. But times like this make life feel tedious. And that's when I wonder what I'm doing wrong.