Driving in, I breathe the prayer I’ve learned to love: “Ordain all of my appointments today.” My mind’s a-whirling, full with all that’s on my plate.

Arriving, I settle in, coffee in hand, journal open beside The Word, and here he comes. He’s a regular, this happy fellow. A cheerful sort, easygoing, but–well, I’ll just say it. He’s slow.

Face wreathed in smiles, he lays it out. “We just got back, my mom and I.”

“Where were you?” I say, smiling back.

“My sister had a baby. We went last Friday. It was a boy!” He’s beaming at me.

“How wonderful!” I enthuse, beaming back. My happiness is fuel on his fire, and he jumps up and down a bit, hands clapping twice.

We talk for awhile, and I feel myself begin to squirm. I really need to keep on moving…

“He’s one of your appointments.” There’s the whisper. And so I settle in, listening to words that stumble and tangle, bumping into each other. Jesus loves him, this not-so-bright one, and so must I.

Driving home, my mind’s still whirling. Oh, but gracious, the stuff that’s on my plate. There’s the bathroom, for one.

“We’ve been camping.” So was my announcement on Wednesday last to Tim “The Tool Man” Taylor, a.k.a., Mr. Schrock. For days now, it’s been undone, sink pulled out; commode, too, for a couple of days; and bare sheetrock walls. A first-world problem, I know, but still. Upheaval, dirt and mess…

I flash ahead to the morrow when Kid Kaboom, Purveyor of Adrenaline, will leave for his week-long survival adventure, “Stranded.” I think of how he’s buzzed, vibrated, salivated for days over this peculiar excursion. Think, too, of how quiet the house will be with the Bottle Rocket gone. I wonder what God’s got planned…

“Davy, Daaaavvy Crockett, king of the wild frontier.” Notes lilt and swirl in my head as I drive along. Oh, he’s our Crockett, that’s for sure.

Passing our church now, a hint of heaviness sets in as I remember the difficult Thing that’s come to us lately. A family Thing, it portends greater challenges down the road. Oh, this will take wisdom to navigate rightly. To respond, not reacting. To choose, day upon day, what our attitudes should be.

We’ve gotten a glimpse of the future, of a different season ahead. One of upheaval, dirt and mess.

Driving by the school, I recall the evening’s schedule. Remember Little’s excitement. Tonight’s a baseball game, and Little Man’s rarin’ to go. In his brand-new white pants, the brand-new long socks, his glove and a bat, he’s a tiny George Brett. Oh, this schedule.

I’m pulling into the drive. “Upheaval, dirt and mess.” These words are looping, turning circles in my head.

Upheaval. Dirt. And mess. That’s my life.

Upheaval and chaos. Interruptions unnumbered. Ongoing projects, obstacles and road blocks.

Dirt that comes tracking over floors, walls and counters. Dirt that spills into my heart, into soul.
Mess. Things I’d not asked for, hadn’t signed for or wanted.

“Davy, Daaavvy Crockett,” is playing in my mind. And over it, this: “Your Grace is Enough.”

Upheaval, dirt and mess. Covered over with grace that’s enough. That’s my life.

Yes, that’s my life.

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