The Daily Post directs: Honestly evaluate the way you respond to crisis situations. Are you happy with the way you react?
I am hell in a crisis. I don’t mean that I am startlingly strong under pressure, a port in a storm, a rock of reliability. I mean that I absolutely panic in crisis moments. I fret, worry, fuss and stew. I expect the worst. I weep, toss and turn endlessly through sleepless nights, and pace. Ask my family and friends. They’ll tell you, ‘Becky just goes to hell in a crisis.’
Well. I exaggerate.
Crises come to us all. A seven week old infant develops a strangulated hernia and needs the same surgery that his twin brother had a week before, only this time, their daddy is playing softball, and can’t be reached. A deer runs right into a pickup driving through the pre-dawn hours of a winter morning. A father forgets who his youngest daughter is, and it remains a haunting memory of lost days, hardship in aging. Cancer. Empty nests. A classic mid-life erosion of purpose & meaning.
Turns out, I sweat all the small stuff. Money. Being late for appointments. Strange car noises. Making gravy. Following a road map, or getting around in an unfamiliar place. Bridges.
But the true crises? I actually am hell at those. Strong under pressure. My strength comes from the Rock.