Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 - Advanced)
Topic: THE WHOLE WORLD IN GODíS HANDS (not the song) (05/28/15)
- TITLE: The Master Juggler
By Judith Gayle Smith
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I briefly worked as a waitress at a Country Kitchen. Washed my dress and apron every night in a motel sink. At thirty-four, a wee bit aged for the job, alongside what appeared to be children waiting the other tables. These little gals would come up to me to ask how old I was. Balancing trays precariously, I duck-footed in my new white work shoes, wincing with each toe-crunching and agonizing heel-rubbing step, told them - seeking sympathy. I was a vision. Three weeks - all I could "juggle."
My aforementioned agonizing feet and my unrelenting Fibromyalgia argued with my need to make money, and eventually I went back to sit-down jobs that required balancing bank accounts and ledgers. And if they didn't balance, I stayed with them until they balanced to the half-penny.
My poor hubby worked heartbreakingly hard, repairing busted coin mechanisms for vending machines, as I attempted to balance new wifehood with the myriad thrills of straining my eyes and brains - more eyes than brains. I had great difficulty juggling the need for additional income with my overwhelming desire to be a wife and someday mother.
Balance. The ability to keep things humming at a reliable level. Give me three items to carry and I will drop four. My hands require highly concentrated effort to perform the simplest tasks. Obviously, and funnily punnily - I am definitely hands-on challenged.
What I can't carry or balance or make sense of mainly is my brain drain. I have a merciless habit of overworking my plans and failing miserably as I attempt to follow through.
I am so grateful that the entire world does not rely on my not so capable hands. I fear holding babies because my unsteady hands might drop the precious bundles. My dog adores me because he can scarf down a great "forbidden people food dinner" as I try to prepare adequately balanced meals for my sweet family.
As I write this, my computer delights me with visions of all but what I am writing. Uncooperative fingers fly to unwanted keys to further addle me. I have brought up "Skype" five times, without even knowing what it is for. I struggle to find my way back to my article without opening more unwanted programs.
As a child, I was often admonished to sit on my hands rather than get into mischief. I wonder - is that why they are still attached to my backside?
I repeat, I am so glad that this world does not revolve around me and my so incapable hands. I transfer every aggravating thing to God's most capable Hands. He holds the world and all Creation in His loving Grip. Thank God. Literally.
God had to slow me down once, using a still small Voice drumming "Be still and know that I Am God." A lesson too slowly ingested, which is why I so often suffer spiritual indigestion. Give it to Him I must and I will and keep my flapping hands from panicking because I cannot handily take care of all my physical, emotional, mental and spiritual angst myself.
Thank You, Heavenly Father . . . teach me to use my somewhat uncooperative hands to glorify You.
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