More than I can handle

I'm pretty sure I haven't seen the floor of my room since coming home from college. Every time I try to pick up, I realize I must sort the boxes, piles, and stacks from college. Are they things I want to keep? To take with me when I move? To use in my classroom? To have in my apartment?

Every time I think my room is bad, I realize my mind feels the same way: completely cluttered, unable to think clearly, unable to continue with one task for more than an hour because my mind is tumbling with ideas, thoughts, worries, and lists.

And then there are the short little trips... trips to Indiana, weddings, Rhode Island... every time I get semi-unpacked and situated, a new duffel bag of things to sort arrives on the scene.

On the most recent trip... the one to Rhode Island... we dropped my brother off at his internship for the summer. We made it into a short family vacation, since we don't know when we'll be together again. We toured mansions, island port cities and harbors, and the ocean, relaxing away from the ever-increasing list of things to do.

In a small, festive town we decided to stop for ice cream. Home-made ice cream. We tasted different flavors, peered into various white containers full of swirled goodness, and finally decided.

I got my ice cream last, and immediately it turned into a dripping mess of stickiness. As rivers of chocolate and vanilla raced down my hand, there was nothing I could do to hold back the damage. My hand was stuck to the cone, the paper peeling, the cone softening. Within the first minute I was ready to throw out the whole thing. But I devoured the ice cream trying to make sure it didn't drip on my clothes or anything else. Meanwhile, my mom and brother managed to eat theirs with no mess. They watched me, coaching me how to lick around the cone, laughing at my chocolate-covered hands. I was embarrassed at my inability to eat an ice cream cone like a civilized human being... and heard my brother ask, "and she's going to teach fourth graders?"

As I finished the last of the mess and began wiping my hands on every napkin I could find, I began to feel insecure. Some days the idea of teaching seems normal because it's what I have always wanted to do. But other days it is incredibly overwhelming. It feels like I have a thousand little rivers of responsibilities I have to stop before they get out of control and make an enormous mess of things. Like that ice cream cone, it seems too much. More than I can handle. It seems like I want to backpedal, ask them if they're really serious.

And then truth... that came ironically from a big, messy ice cream cone... I never give you more than you can handle. 

Not only has the principal of my school trusted me with these fourth graders. God has. And He says He will give me the strength to handle all that comes my way.

Already I have seen His blessing and provisions!