When it rains, it pours. I hate that saying, because it’s usually true. Isn’t rain enough? When it pours, there are floods, and when there are floods, things get messy and bad things can happen. A steady rain is much more manageable than a downpour. There isn’t much to do about a heavy rain except take cover and pray that it ceases.
But why does it have to pour? Why, when I have ten things to do, those ten multiply and become twenty? When I have the time to do ten things, suddenly ten more get piled on. But the time never gets piled on, just the things to do. And they all have to be done in the same span of time. Annoying.
Why is it that when I am feeling overwhelmed, more life events happen that are seemingly as important as all the other things that are currently overwhelming me?
Why does this week feel like it’s crawling, when I already feel like I’m being pulled in 40 different directions each day? It should feel as if it's moving fast. How can I spend days with hardly anything to do, and then there is a cascade of days where one or both of my children won’t be eating dinner because of our crazy schedule and I fear for their health, not to mention my sanity?
I have a million of them. Why do phone calls all come at the same time? Why is the weather so crappy? Why, when I offered to help at the school, did it occur at a time when I really don’t have the time? Why are my kids’ birthdays so close to other holidays? The whys go on and on. They are really just complaints. Complaints about life, a life that I chose, a life that is really very cushy, one that allows me to sit in my warm house, wearing my pajamas, and tap away on my laptop while my stomach is in knots trying to figure out how I’m going to get through the next few days that are packed with activities that I agreed upon.
I know that complaining never does anyone any good. It doesn’t fix anything, it doesn’t change anything, and it only serves to make the complainer look like a spoiled brat. My mother says that some people will always find something to complain about.
I guess she is talking about me.
I’m embarrassed when I overbook my life, this wonderful gift that God gave me, this thing that I so carelessly run at times, hours and weeks and even years squandered on worthless things, only to complain about it. If my life were a corporation, my days as CEO would be numbered.
Why does it pour? I certainly don’t know. I don’t like being blasted with rain. I don’t enjoy feeling like every time I look up I feel as if I’m drowning. I especially don’t like the impression that I’m giving off, the one of top complainer.
I can only believe that it pours because I’m being taught something. Maybe patience, maybe peace. Maybe I’ve not been nurturing my relationship with God and he’s calling me in. Maybe my faith is being stretched. Maybe I’m being – horror of all horrors – prepared for something.
God only gives you what you can handle. Can I be real for a minute and say that I’d like to punch whoever made that little gem a cliché?
Okay, I’m not really a puncher. How about a really violent eye roll?
You’re going to wear yourself out—and the people, too. This job is too heavy a burden for you to handle all by yourself. Exodus 18:18 (NLT)
Then the wayward will gain understanding, and complainers will accept instruction. Isaiah 29:24 (NLT)
Do everything without complaining and arguing. Philippians 2:14 (NLT)