There’s a moment in life where it suddenly dawns on you that every plan has gone hideously awry, you’ve tripped over a random crack in the sidewalk and are about to slam your chin to the cement. Pain is inevitable. Blood maybe. Possibly some laughter, depending on how many people are watching you try to make out with the sidewalk.
Sidewalks are not good kissers, believe me.
A few weeks ago I took a literal tumble on the sidewalk that left me shaken, laughing at myself and soaked from the wet grass I rolled in to get up. I spent an hour or so in wet jeans and a silly smile on my face. Taking a silly tumble like that was funny. Momentary. Fleeting.
No harm done.
But when you take a tumble in life, when all your best plans suddenly fail in the most dramatically traumatic way, it’s not as funny.
Or as painless.
September happened. I’m sure we all remember the gorgeous weather and increasingly tense election. Amidst all that, I had no sugar. I followed my candida-killing diet. I made food. Lots of food.
I made progress.
Then my plans kissed the sidewalk and I’ve been in pain ever since.
Progress report? Do not pass go, do not collect $200, go straight to jail.
I know, this would be such a better read if at the end I suddenly jumped in with, “But wait, everything is cool because I found this magic cure!”
I didn’t. I don’t. I haven’t. I might not ever.
But that, my friends, is okay. Because the sidewalk hit me and it hurts, but I’m on my feet, thanks to God’s grace and all my peoples.
I spent the morning trying to console crying babies, while working off of 4ish hours of sleep and absolutely no caffeine because I’m not allowed to have it. I spent lunch at a fabulous vegan restaurant with some friends. I spent the afternoon saving Paleo and Candida-diet recipes and making plans.
Maybe some adjustments will help.
Plans and more plans. The sidewalk may grab for me again, but until then I’m gonna keep limping along.
Where there’s life, there’s hope.