Spazz.

Let’s just say I have coined a new phrase: “That was a bad day with a stray cat on top.”

God bless the husbands of spastic women. If being a spazz was an Olympic event, I would take gold, silver, and bronze. And I would probably be too twitchy to stand on any of the elevated steps during the national anthem.

On Friday, things were going well. I was going to get off at 2:30, I had packed all of the bags for the wedding; I was feeling good…more than good.

Then I find out that Justin is getting off work late. While I know that this isn’t his fault, I go into spazz mode. We’re going to be late. We are going to walk into rehearsal and everyone is going to be staring at us. The wedding planner is going to assume we are “those” people who can’t responsibly show up to an event on time. Someone else is going to have to stand in for us and they’re probably going to flash us dagger eyes.

I call my mom and she does her usual, “Calm down, it’s not a big deal” thing, which skyrockets my adrenaline and sends me almost into convulsions.

Irrational? Of course. But the spazz brain doesn’t compute this yet.

I am pacing the house when I hear Justin finally pull up. He doesn’t come in the house. What is he doing?

I exit the house and find him bathing this little kitten outside.

I just stood there, mouth agape.

“I told you about this abandoned kitten and that we were going to take her to your grandma.”

I have a flashback to the conversation that I had forgotten amidst my fury.

By this time, the dog has proceeded to bang violently on the glass door and whimper. We load the wet kitten, the crying dog and everything else into the car. I put Fiona in her car seat but she jumps out, strangling herself in an attempt to reach this frightened kitten.

The rest of the way I was required to straightjacket the dog in a large blanket while she cried and squirmed non-stop. In order to keep myself from crying, I began to depressingly sing Sarah McLachlan’s “Arms of an Angel.” I laughed at the hilarity that had become my life; one minute I’m devotedly not an animal person; the next minute I could be on a commercial asking you to donate 10 cents a day.

“Where ARE you right now?” Justin asked, concerned and a tad agitated.

Snap back to reality.

“I’m where I need to be right now. Just let me stay here. Please.”

I think I speak for all the other spazzy Christians out there when I say that our biggest spiritual battle has got to be the idea of peace.

Oh, the peace that passes understanding, how I long for thee.

Just hearing the 23rd Psalm stresses me out because I can’t imagine lying down in a green pasture without accidentally landing on a cow patty. And I’m sure not in bathing suit shape for when he leads me beside still waters.

We hear “Be anxious about nothing,” and think, “Good one, God. Good one.”

I await the day when I can write a post about how to handle this; how to fix this; how to find that peace. But I’m not really there yet.

I guess for now you will just have to find the nearest microfiber blanket and makeshift it as a straightjacket.

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.

John 14:27 ESV