Every few months I run out of gas. In every area—physical, spiritual, mental. Empty in any two I can handle; three and look out. You don’t want to be around me then. Very little that I do or say can be trusted to be done or said with good judgment. It lasts a day or two.
Yesterday was one of those days.
What do you do about it?
Come home and eat. Keep quiet. Don’t complain. Enjoy the meal. Chicken chili. Grilled cheese. Salad. Milk.
Take a nap. Give yourself permission to flop on the bed and drift off for 30 minutes.
Then, the best part, like a gift—you take a walk and the moon is rising. Perfectly round, it’s edges sharp and bright against the almost-dark sky, like someone took a back-to-school compass and drew a circle above the trees. It says, shhh. Like someone put it there just for you.
This morning you read Psalm 107. Four times—in a variety of predicaments from a variety of causes—it says,
Then they cried to the Lord in their trouble, and he delivered them from their distress
