punctuated

I feel like I'm in a juggling act. I toss these balls back and forth, switching from hand to hand. It goes around and around and around.

A paper due every Monday along with calculus problems. Check off the first. Wait until the weekend to tackle those calculus problems. Hang on though, there's a research proposal due Thursday, but I must prioritize. There's that exam to study for on Tuesday first, a whole Wednesday to study for Thursday's exam, but oh, wait! I need to finish that paper that's due earlier in the day. Now, I can study for the exam. Oh, hang on. I have a major quiz on Friday for a different class that I haven't got to yet? Another exam on Sunday? That has to wait for the weekend as well. Then there's work to be done for teaching on Saturday mornings and Sunday evenings. 

Where are my hands? Where is my head? I can't even see them anymore. 

Every once in awhile, it's beautiful. Maybe even impressive for a split second. Everything seems to be flowing smoothly, almost too smoothly, then oops! Just dropped one ball. Trying to lean over and pick it up and oops! Just dropped another. Now, the balls fly in every which way, and it's embarrassing and I stammer and apologize to no one in particular. Those are the days I stress most. Staring at the mess and trying to get back up again. The cycle reverts. Struggling to build up that same momentum. Keep juggling. Don't look away. Not for a minute. Not for a second. 

Pressure bellows in each ear, "HEY! HEY YOU! YEAH, YOU. GUESS WHAT?! YA SNOOZE YA LOSE!"

It doesn't help that it's exam week and his whiny little voice has only gotten louder and louder. Call me strange though, I swear, I don't think I'd want it any other way. I think I know deep, deep down, even while I'm griping and whining, that none of this will last. There's this cliche that goes, "Too blessed to be stressed." I've heard it so many times that I've kinda tuned myself out whenever I hear it. What does it even mean, anyway? 

I'm not one to look down on people's stress. I believe that there are many forms of it. But sometimes, I must admit, I need to put it all in perspective. What does "too blessed to be stressed" mean? I'll tell you. It means that in a world with so many things that could be potentially stressful like wondering where your next meal is going to come from or where you're going to lie down for the night, my anxiety about handing in a research paper on time is nothing. It means that while other people worry how they're going to pay for the month's rent or how they're supposed to tell a loved one that they've been diagnosed with a terminal illness, my stress is about exams, papers, and deadlines--something that just comes with the luxury of getting an education.

I looked at the nifty little calender on my planner and saw that I had scribbled "hell week" on the slot for Sunday along with an arrow that extended til the end of the week. I smiled, not because it was untrue, but I just wouldn't have it any other way. I've added three more words to it:

Hell week punctuated by grace.

In the spur of the moment, I chose the word "punctuated" because it gives the connotation of something that happens in intervals when you least expect it--an interruption, if you will. Not sure why, but it also gives me the picture of a cheeky little exclamation mark (!). That little exclamation mark perfectly captures the essence of how I picture God's grace--these strange, unexpected yet powerful bursts. It may not be big, but it's always enough for what I need.

Sending much love and prayers out to everyone in the same boat. xo.