I’m sitting here, waiting for my nails to dry, and crossing my fingers that there’ll be a delay tomorrow. Which, by the way, is not very easy to do with freshly painted nails. Then again, neither is typing.

On principle, I want a delay tomorrow for the kids.

I can hear the wind gusting outside, and I can feel the temperature drop twenty degrees when I step away from the fireplace. I don’t even want to try to imagine how my little ones are going to feel standing out there tomorrow morning, waiting for their buses. Even bundled up in coats, scarves, hats, and, mittens (which they rarely are), it’s going to be frigid.

And so I’m sitting here, hoping for a delay.

That’s my stated reason. My real reason? I just want a little more time. I don’t want a snow day. Not because I don’t want to lose my summer – I totally prefer the instant gratification of a day off now over a day off five months from now - but simply because I’m going to a conference on Wednesday and I need to go in tomorrow to prepare for the sub. So I don’t need a snow day or anything. Just a delay.

Just one more morning to sleep in. Just one more lazy chapter in bed before getting up to face the world. Just a little extra time to make sure my car starts, and the time to drive slow in case the roads are still bad. Just a little more time.

Because there’s never enough, is there?

For all of the expectations we place on ourselves. For all of the tasks others ask us to do. For all of those fun things we have planned in the back of our minds. For checking things off our bucket lists. For reading. For writing. For decluttering. For excercising. For laundry. For prayer.

Ahhh. There it is. The real crux of my problem.

There’s never enough time for prayer.

I think I’ve gotten it backward again.

That should read, ‘There’s never enough time to not pray.’

Because without prayer, I’m on my own. And if I’m on my own, I’ll never get anything done. If I’m on my own, I’ll be overwhelmed by all of my to-do’s and by the hopelessness and helplessness of daily life and repetitive tasks. Like the never ending piles of laundry, dirty dishes, and ungraded papers. If I’m on my own, I’ll be lost in a what-if of panic. What if the pipes freeze in this cold. What if the dead pine tree falls in this wind. What if the electricity goes out before I can get this blog posted. What if the cancer comes back. What if… If I’m on my own I’m going to suffocate under my own inabilities.

But I’m not on my own.

I’m not unable, overwhelmed, helpless, hopeless, or suffocating. Or at least, I don’t have to be any of those things. And I won’t be any of those things. As long as I take the time to pray.

As long as I make the time to pray.

I have a note on a bedroom shelf that I wrote to myself years ago: Never stop making time for God. He made time itself for you.

So, I’m uncrossing my fingers – my nails are just about dry – and I’m closing my laptop. I’m going to go spend some time with my Abba.

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