I think it may be approaching 40--all of this hormonal change, or perhaps an early sign of menopause, God forbid, that has me recently on an extremely crabby mood. I mean, crabby as in don't-look-at-me-or-I-just-might-throw-this-zucchin-at-you in the supermarket. And I can't even tell you the thoughts that run through my head when the Verrazzano is jammed early in the morning and I'm desperately trying to get to work on an alternate side parking day in Brooklyn. There are some people that should just not be driving out there--atleast not on the Verrazzano or the Belt, or Ocean Parkway. There should be laws against driving in NYC if you're a highway phobic. Because then women like me who are striving to remain Godly endanger the possibility of entering the pearly gates.
Have you ever been so annoyed that you want to crawl out of your own skin? That's where I am. And it seems as though no amount of buying new boots or drinking Starbucks coffee or sneaking to finish off some stale Halloween chocolates can simmer me down. The awful thing is, I can't come up with a legitimate reason for the irritability and the last time I went to the doctor my blood pressure was so high he told me to take up Yoga. Then, he thought better of it. He knew about my inflexible joints. "Maybe just stretch," he said. "And walk. Walking is good. Yoga you can do much later." And because I am psychosomatic, that night I told my husband I was having a heart attack. "I have high blood pressure. It can lead to a heart attack." My husband wasn't sure what to make of this asymptomatic myocardial infarction so he said, "See your doctor in the morning." I told him I would be dead by then.
That was two months ago. And I'm sure my blood pressure is steadily rising.
So today, while driving home from church I thought, "My God, I need Elizabeth. I need to get back on the wagon and snap out of this."
Then I thought of Sarah, the epitome of Virtue and I wondered if she dealt with anger, justified or not. And then I remembered how angry she had gotten over Ishmael and Hagar; she was so "wroth" that she coldly sent them off to the wilderness, not caring what would become of them. She had felt insulted and undermined in her own home and, wildly angry, she sent her husband's concubine and young son packing to some undetermined destination.
Maybe that wasn't the exact passage I needed to remember to simmer me down. But whatever Sarah's case maybe, her anger, we later find out, was God-ordained. It was instrumental to fulfilling what would become of Ishmael and Isaac.
I doubt my irritability has the same purpose of equal epic proportion.
I really do think I just need to start praying more...to start organizing my day...to start, again, striving for goodness and kindness and love and oh, that foreign word in a place like NYC, long-suffering...
So here I am, climbing back on this wagon, planning for an early morning rise tomorrow, a moment of prayer, a few minutes of stretching, and the slow, steady ascent back towards virtue. Pray for me.