I showed up work yesterday with my curly, unwashed hair pulled on top of my head in a wild ponytail sticking out all over my head, an over-sized t-shirt, black jeans, and the unmistakable look of a the six hours of sleep I'd had in the last two days hanging in the shadows around my eyes. Everyone who looked at me smiled politely. I was just happy to be standing upright.
It's no secret that I live my life in a blur of activity that would make mere mortals crumble. I mean, it's no secret that I will sometimes knock out a four page essay for a class, stay up half the night talking to someone, teach my students on two hours of sleep, and finish the afternoon with a five mile run. I like it that way. Yesterday, though, I reached my own breaking point after having one more wrench thrown in the spokes of my life.
My dear friend across the hall wandered into my room, sat across from my desk, and took in the sight that belied my own brand of chaos. When he asked, "What's wrong?", I broke down, and the tears started as I confessed my despair.
He pointed to his shoulder and reminded me, "This is for you, you know."
I cried.
"Let's get out of here." He asked if I wanted to grab our other friend or go alone. We ended up grabbing a quick lunch during which we talked and complained and laughed. It didn't take away the stack of papers I still have to grade or the laundry that's been piled up on my kitchen table for the last three weeks or the masters work waiting for me or the heartbreak resting in the silence of a certain man who drives me batty.
But I felt so loved in that moment. It's that form of love that amazes me on a daily basis--that love that finds you in the form of people who are willing to just offer their presence. To just be there in the moment when you need a human connection. To listen without offering advice. To accept tears as well as smiles. To live and share the moment as it is.
That's the hand of God in our lives. It touched me yesterday in the midst of French fries and cheeseburgers and gave me the fuel to carry on. The thought still makes me smile.
It's no secret that I live my life in a blur of activity that would make mere mortals crumble. I mean, it's no secret that I will sometimes knock out a four page essay for a class, stay up half the night talking to someone, teach my students on two hours of sleep, and finish the afternoon with a five mile run. I like it that way. Yesterday, though, I reached my own breaking point after having one more wrench thrown in the spokes of my life.
My dear friend across the hall wandered into my room, sat across from my desk, and took in the sight that belied my own brand of chaos. When he asked, "What's wrong?", I broke down, and the tears started as I confessed my despair.
He pointed to his shoulder and reminded me, "This is for you, you know."
I cried.
"Let's get out of here." He asked if I wanted to grab our other friend or go alone. We ended up grabbing a quick lunch during which we talked and complained and laughed. It didn't take away the stack of papers I still have to grade or the laundry that's been piled up on my kitchen table for the last three weeks or the masters work waiting for me or the heartbreak resting in the silence of a certain man who drives me batty.
But I felt so loved in that moment. It's that form of love that amazes me on a daily basis--that love that finds you in the form of people who are willing to just offer their presence. To just be there in the moment when you need a human connection. To listen without offering advice. To accept tears as well as smiles. To live and share the moment as it is.
That's the hand of God in our lives. It touched me yesterday in the midst of French fries and cheeseburgers and gave me the fuel to carry on. The thought still makes me smile.
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