It's the storm of the century. Well, maybe not quite, but it was raining so hard when I finished with class tonight that I had my roommate come pick me up. She's a saint. It's also storming on other fronts--I'm feeling sorry for my cousin who is in the path of Hurrican Ivan. I'm getting assailed by financial woes--hail on my parade--my car is in the shop and will be expensive to fix, if indeed I do get it fixed. What a conundrum. It's things like this that always start to stress me out, that right when all my bills are due, then I get hit up for more money. I suppose that's why we're supposed to save and not spend it all, but I'm supposed to be saving for a new-to-me car, not pouring money down the endless hole that is Big Bertha. That's when I'm reminded by that persistant, still, small, ever present voice that says, "Trust me. Aren't I big enough to handle this?"

But then I wonder, "Haven't I been a bad Christian lately? You probably won't take care of this out of spite." Naughty me. I imagine the Holy Spirit looking shocked, and then laughing that I would think Him/It? spiteful. Oh yes, I think. That's right. You love me. I forgot.

Inside,
I had been
broken
as with a
sledgehammer.
But
You found
a
piece
of me
that I had
missed
as I fit
myself
back
together,
putting it
just the
right
place,
making me
whole.