I always seem to tell a lot of stories...my school kids always seemed to enjoy them, and I seem to tell them here, too. Usually, it's because they mean something to me in some form or fashion, or I would not remember them, to be truthful.
I know that I've already written a post today; trust you me...I'm well aware that I wrote that post...it was a rough day, just like I said. But a i was sitting here now, pondering...well...I dunno what I was pondering....just pondering...I was led back in time to my second (and last) year of high school.
I tend to start a lot of sentences with, "I remember..." and this story is no exceptionto that rule.
I remember her voice. It was soooo annoying. Her name was Mrs. Swanson. But it was said through her nose, Swaaaaaaaaaaanson. She took over our class because our teacher was deathly ill. It was typing class, and she would repeat the letters as we typed them..."a...s...d...f...j...k..l...." you get the idea. No one really liked her.
I'm not sure why, but I was outside one day, I suppose waiting on my bus, and I was very upset and she could tell. She came to me, sat down beside me, and asked me if I could tell her what was wrong. Then I cried. And cried. And cried some more. I finally explained to her that I had a "C" on my report card, in Physical Science. It wasn't because I didn't try, but I knew I was going to get in trouble. A "C" is as good as an "F" in the eyes of my parents. I already didn't get to do much, and I wanted to still be able to do the few things I was allowed to do.
She put her hand on my knee, and very softly, she said, "Honey..I've gotten myself through a lot of situations by asking myself just one simple question." And so I looked up at her, expectantly, I suppose, and she said "I'll share it with you if you'd like...?" And so I nodded my head, and she said,"Abby, in 5 years, FIVE years from now, will this "C" on your report card matter?" And so I started thinking about that and decided that in the long run, a "C" wasn't so bad, there could be a lot worse.
Throughout my life, in many different circumstances, I have used that question. When I was pregnant...the devastaion of my family and friends wouldn't be there in five years, or at least I hoped! When I was in college, working full time, and going to school full time, I knew there was an end in sight...in five years, all that work will have paid off and I would have more time with my kids, and waaayyyy less times with my books.
Trying to find a job....in five years, is it going to be OK? Will we have eaten and paid our bills? Yes, somehow, we would. Learning this new job...in five years, will I be a pro like the other girls are? With everything going on with Mark, or the lack thereof, the pain, the ache, the sorrow...I know that in five years, that will have subsided. I don't think it could ever go away, but I do believe that time makes things better. I can't think of other examples right now, really, but I've asked myself that question at least a zillion times since that day in my Sophomore year of high school.
There's no telling where I'll be in five years; what I'll be doing. Will I be here, at MGM, knowing everything there is to know about windows? Will I be single? What car will I drive? Will I still be living in my little white house? In five years, my kids will be...well...five years older. It will be interesting to see where life takes them...what kind of a job they will have...if they will stick with what they are doing, or will they decide to do something else?
So, as I sit and think of all that has happened to me in the last five years, I see God's hand gently guiding me every step of the way, and I know He will continue to guide me for the next five years as well.
Try it...think about how important things are, especially when you are upset....because this, too, shall pass.
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