This was going to be the week. After endless weather-related school delays and closings, holidays, cold so severe it caused me to miss my morning swim in order to drive kids to school, and unusual orthodontist appointments, this was finally going to be a normal week. I couldn’t wait. Monday went pretty well, with a normal day of running errands while Luc was at co-op interrupted only by an unexpected visit to Pellet Stove Mike. (Our stove had popped its chain the previous night, and we didn’t trust ourselves to fix it.) I packed my swim bag Monday night, eagerly looking forward to the next morning’s pool workout, followed by a productive day of cleaning and homeschooling, followed by a pleasant evening of running kids around and Bible Study.
I woke up Tuesday with a splitting headache. I took Ibuprofin, drank a few sips of coffee, and the headache was joined by nausea. I debated trying the pool anyway, but was sent back to bed by my husband. Strike one. I finally rose at 8:30 (shocking Lucas, who I think has never before woken up earlier than me), in time to call Pellet Stove Mike, who spent the morning unable to repair our stove. He likes to chat, and occasionally needs help lifting something, so I couldn’t leave the family room. The bathrooms remained uncleaned. Strike Two. Now we sit waiting for the snowpocalypse. The entire State of Maryland declared a state of emergency before a flake even fell: Strike Three. Clearly, school, swimming, and ALL MY PLANS will be cancelled tomorrow. So much for my normal week.
The radio station I listen to has a daily question. A few weeks ago, it was, “If there was an Olympic Team for something you excel at, what would it be?” I didn’t call in, but I knew right away: I would be the captain of the Olympic Planning Team. I plan vacations. I am planning college visits. I plan my week like a puzzle, fitting in times to shuttle kids, make dinner, prepare lessons, exercise, call friends, and clean. Those who know me won’t be surprised by this peek at my day planner.
The good thing about being a planning kind of girl is that, if things go well, I get a lot done. Once I wrote something on a day, it’s rare that I can’t cross it off. The bad thing is that if I’m struck with something unexpected that throws off my schedule, I accomplish nothing. I’m not great at thinking on the fly. (That’s why I’m a planner, duh!) It’s probably just a teeny bit self-centered to think that the entire purpose of this winter’s Polar Vortex is to teach me that, despite my ambitious calendar and devotion to foresight, my illusion of control is just that -- an illusion. Nevertheless, as a part of whatever else is going on with the weather, I do think that this winter holds an important lesson for me. One that I am not particularly enjoying learning.
Most people are familiar with the poem “Invictus,” by William Ernest Henley. On first reading, this poem is inspiring: “My head is bloody, but unbowed” . . . “I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul.” Gives you the chills, doesn’t it? I ran into this poem in college, and after the initial frisson, it actually scared me. It seemed so defiant, such a risky, fist-to-the-sky challenge to God. I thought, “that can’t be the right way to think.” Nearly a quarter-century later, the poem strikes me not so much as dangerously defiant as patently ridiculous. The Master of My Fate? Who am I kidding; I can’t even remember to switch the laundry from the washer to the drier if my schedule is thrown off. The Captain of My Soul? A little headache and nausea (which I did not have any part in causing) keeps me in bed hours longer than I want to be there. Henley was certainly made of tougher stuff than I, but I’m willing to bet that if he were honest, he’d admit to being hit with some flying snowballs that he couldn’t handle. And of course, no matter how in control a person is, the moment comes when life ends (what Henley calls “the horror of the shade”) -- and that’s not really in our hands. Nor is what follows.
Despite the fact that I don’t particularly enjoy being reminded of my finiteness and fallibility, I am actually thankful. If it’s true that I am not really in control, the best thing is to know it. After all, “the truth shall set you free.” And if the truth is that I’m not in control, it’s good news that Someone is. And the best news of all is that the Someone who is, is better, wiser, and more benevolent to me than I could ever be to myself.
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