Tip of My Iceberg

 

My voice has dropped an octave.

If I didn’t feel so lousy, it’d be amusing to rebrand who I am with my new vocal chords.

The conference has begun. And I’ve got a worse cold than I did weeks ago.

Rivers of yellow snot flow from my nose. My throat is raw. I sound horrific.

All I want is to be around people.

Don’t want to share my germs freely, I’m doing everything in my power to fix me.

I’m taking NyQuil and DayQuil like I own stock in the company. Putting Thieves essential oils on the bottoms of my feet. Gargling warm salt water. And because my friend, Meg, told me to swab my ears with hydrogen peroxide, I’m doing that.

I’ve tried to lay low. When it was feasible.

I hate missing out on anything.

Especially being with people.

The content of this conference is superb. I’m trying to be very under-the-radar when I’m sitting there, surreptitiously coughing into my elbow, trying not to sniff too loudly.

There are people I haven’t seen or connected with in two years. Folks I want to grab a cup of joe with. Hear how they’re stories are progressing.

People look at me questioningly. Do I know what I sound like?

Yeah.

It all makes me really disappointed.

I want to do the things I’d planned. We’re in Colorado, for pete’s sake. And people are here that I want to talk to. Enjoy their company, knowing that, after two years of not seeing each other, we can pick up where we left off.

Not happening that much.

I’m the bird with the wounded wing who can only watch others fly.

I’m disappointed.

I don’t do well with disappointment. Growing up, I learned that it was a big part of life. My folks didn’t have much, and we learned that doing without was not a death sentence.

But I raised my kids in an age of entitlement. Where I tried to protect them from disappointment. From not accomplishing what they wanted.

That’s a goofy goal to have.

Disappointment is a huge part of life. It gives us the reality check that we’re not in control.

Of anything.

I attended a meeting recently where my boss was speaking, and he brought up a point that resonated with me.

We need to connect with the reality of our humanness. That we have limits.

Well, yeah.

He followed that up with this: God is more comfortable with my humanness than I am. It’s our humanness that causes us to rely on Him. A God who is greater, more powerful than me.

He accepts my limitations and mistakes better than I do.

What kind of God loves that well? Forgives that completely?

The kind of God who came to earth to show us what real love is. The One who wasn’t satisfied with do-gooders who could follow rules but yearned for relationship.

I’ve done everything I could to rid myself of this cold. I do what I can and live with the disappointment of what won’t be.

But I’ve got a God on my side who’s able to do what I can’t.

Accept me in my mess.