Honey, I don't think you're gonna make it.

So, I was at Subway last night getting my favorite sandwich, an Italian BMT with provolone, toasted with extra spinach, tomatoes and oil (btw... the description was thrown in there in case anyone wants to bring me one when I'm in the hospital. Sorry, I don't do subtlety.) and the man in line after me says, "when are you due to pop?" I looked at him with disappointment and said, "Not for another four and a half weeks." His eyes opened wide and he shook his head and said, "Honey, I don't think you're gonna make it." And I don't know why, but I had the strongest urge to give this man a hug. Don't worry, I settled for thinking in my head, "Thank you Mr. Stranger at Subway Man, thank you."

I guess I just needed a little bit of encouragement that this wasn't going to last forever and this stranger was the person God sent to remind me of that. I kind of wonder if he will ever know how encouraging he really was.

Anyway, it got me thinking about why I was so emotional about that yesterday. I know that I'm naturally a bit on the crazy side and the pregnant hormones don't help, but for a brief few hours there yesterday, I was feeling particularly vulnerable. Sometimes the whole weight of things just seems to come crashing down on us.

The more I thought of my kind Subway stranger the more I thought about my situation. Some time within the next month I will give birth to our son and my husband will not be there. (Talk about heavy.) And if that's not enough, within the next two months I will once again pack up my family and move far, far away from our loved ones and our support system, following the calling God has placed on my husband and our family. (Getting heavier...) And we will once again be thrown into a completely new culture with it's own customs, rules, regulations and expectations which we will just be expected to know and understand.  (Seriously, by this point I should be investing in one of those lifting belts.) To top things off, my husband will be working with soldiers. These are people who have to face the horrors of war that us civilians cannot begin to fathom. My husband's job is to counsel them, guide them and support them so that they can continue in their difficult field of service. (And by this point I just look like the wimpy kid in gym class who got stuck under the barbells.)

I'm not totally crazy though am I? That's an awful lot of weight to bear, isn't it? It's hard to remind myself that I don't have to carry all that weight. I have friends and family that are here to help. Like my sister-in-law who can research places to rent and neighborhoods better than any real estate agent in the country. She can tell you how far a place is from work, what the schools are like and the nearest location to purchase a blue slushie. But even more impressive than her slushie finding abilities is the strength we find when we just let God hold these weights.

I don't know why we fight him on this so often. You wouldn't see the wimpy kid in gym class tell the totally buff varsity wrestler guy who offered to help pick up the barbells say, "No thanks dude, I got this." So why do I try to do everything on my own? I think it's because total surrender to God is a lot more difficult than it sounds. It's one thing to sing about it on Sunday morning... it's completely different to put it into practice on Monday morning. To totally trust someone with everything, especially when the road he sends you on doesn't appear to make much sense; that's a scary thing. It's easier to say, "No thanks dude, I got this." But ultimately, that's really dumb on our part. Like, monumentally dumb. I mean, if we can't put our trust in God, who sacrificed everything so that we could join him in eternal life, then who can we trust? Honestly, we're just plain stupid sometimes.

So today, I am going to hand things over to God. He's better at handling this stuff anyway. And I'm going to pray for the strength to hand them over again tomorrow. After all, God has really big muscles and I'm just a wimpy kid on the right team.