Moment of Relief

Today was hellish, and I should be going to bed instead of blogging or tomorrow may follow suit with today.... but... I just want to reflect for a moment.

I started my day on too little sleep, and then pumped my brain full of caffeine for my last class of this terrible week, knowing that when it ended, my homework nightmare had only begun. After class, I discussed a Medicare policy paper with my professor and managed to get all worked up about my medical bills from my broken foot (long story): Cry #1.

Then, I traveled to an appointment on the other side of campus because I have been completely unable to focus and am now 2 papers behind (NOT NORMAL!). Well, they were running late, but when I did finally go in, I had to explain all of my recent focus difficulties and all the things I've tried: Cry #2.

She then spent quite a bit of time explaining a million options, but all I wanted was for her to say, "I think you should try this, here's what it does and here's the prescription." So when I finally left the appointment, it had been an hour and a half since I had left my car in the metered parking for which I had only paid for 45 minutes. As I walked to my car, the irony did not escape me as I watched them write me a ticket. I tried to plead my case, but he was only doing his job: Cry #3.

I called my supervisor to let her know that I was going to be an hour and a half late, rather than just one hour, but I could not get ahold of her. And then I realized that on my way to practicum I had been planning to drop off the rent check and my 60-day notice that I would not be renewing my lease, which I was supposed to have taken care of days ago, and which I no longer had time for... and the office would likely be closed when practicum was over: Cry #4.

At practicum, the kids were running a muck... the boys that I can usually coach back into the classroom were running and screaming in the halls and dashing out the back door any chance they got. The girls were so angry at one of the teachers (a total miscommunication) that three of them refused to be in the classroom at all and instead fumed and festered in the hallway.

On my way home, I blasted the music and delivered the rent check with attitude to the appropriate mailbox for tomorrow's business hours. And as I pulled into my apartment parking lot, I realized that I had somehow carried the kids anger with me. There is this unmistakable spirit of anger around them ALL THE TIME, and today I was apparently vulnerable enough to let it follow me home.

As I walked up to the building, there was another car parking, so I figured I'd be holding the door for a stranger. But when I tried to open the door and could not get the lock to budge not matter what trick I played with the key, the stranger became my hope. I turned around, hoping that they would come and deal with the door because I couldn't handle one more thing. But the person who had parked had not emerged from their car in the anticipated time frame.

It was only then that the stranger, still talking on his cell phone, emerged from his car, apparently because he could see me fighting with the door. I don't think he believed me that the lock wouldn't budge, but he spoke kindly as he tried his key. When someone opened it from the inside, he smiled and said, "I guess we don't have to worry about it now." And when I grabbed the door, he pushed it open for me and said, "I gotcha." And for a moment, as I walked under his arm and into the building, I felt a wave of relief... someone was taking care of me, and the world was not going to crash down on my head by the sheer weight of it all.

When I reached my apartment and found a form that the apartment owners should have given me weeks ago, it was all over: Cry # 5, 6, & 7.

I finally composed myself, ate dinner, and gathered my things for small group (including the soft pink bear that accompanies me when I'm especially upset - this is a twice-a-year kind of thing). Then my elevator door opened, and out walked my roommate, worried about why I looked so awful. Suddenly, I didn't want to spend the energy to stay composed and instead of going to small group, I recounted my day to my roommate: Cry #8.

And as I wrote all this out it occurs to me that the moment of relief the stranger brought, just by holding the door with his kind smile, did not feel momentous at the time. But looking back on it, even my wording is striking, "someone was taking care of me, and the world was not going to crash down on my head by the sheer weight of it all."

I cannot help but be amazed that, once again, the behavior and words of a stranger reflect the eternal reality I too easily forget.