I lay in bed in the middle of the night, sweaty. Higher temperatures and rising humidity; my cool air is not as cool. Apparently neither is my contentment.

I feel calm slipping away with my income. Not a slow trickle, but gaping hole in my account. If it continues at this pace, the reservoir will run dry. I’m staying in though, riding the storm out I’m told is wise. Never pull. I’m okay with this, but when I hear the concern on a global level, making changes it never has before, to accommodate an uncertain future, I am concerned.

This is not about endless rolls of toilet paper hoarding by some, or shaming by others for their fear-filled extreme purchases. No, I’m in the middle concerned. Likely a good place to be.

I’m in the midst of editing my book, actually making real progress as a self-imposed quarantine from an eye infection has left me a spectacle (pun intended) for almost three weeks, and not wanting people to back away in fear at the sight, I’ve mostly stayed home, or incognito under a baseball hat disguise.

When I see something I wrote I’ll take hold of today:

My mind raced. I went on a trip to past memories, snippets here and there, racing to multiple moments as if on a whirlwind tour. For at least an hour I followed along, feeling the combination of emotions that accompanied each flashback. Until I took charge of the thoughts instead of being the passenger. I thought, instead of looking back, how about I look forward, make up some potential scenarios to get my mind working ideas out–the task taking more energy than the passive role of remembrance.

My issue is still remembrance that upsets me today. Remembering how we sat side by side with the financial advisor he knew, working out the future without him, provided with funds only attained upon his death. This saddens me so, feeling his presence dissipate even further. This isn’t financial as much as it’s emotional. I know this. I’ve been very responsible. The instability of the economy is outside my control. As are all things in life. Truth is, money comes, money goes. That’s just how it is.

…

Now, onto cupcakes. I’m proofreading early this morning, and I see a passage that hardly fits with the frame of the story. It is on me finding a cupcake wrapper on a run one morning shortly after Bill died. I feel a stir within tell me to pay attention. I make my way home and tell one of my girls about my finding, and maybe instead of Starbucks, to switch to the bakery that sells cappuccino instead. (I am meeting a friend later in the day.)

I say, “It’s the icing on the cupcake.”

She looks confused, when I go on to tell her it is an expression of sorts, and depending on how you view, it can be positive, or negative.

She comments about me ordering one, “What if there were a band aide in the center?”

“Why would you say such a thing?”

“I don’t know.” She says, and moves on.

Days before, I wrote of a moment with a band aide on my run, a moment when I pass by it on the asphalt, I hear the words within speak to me, “It’s like covering a deep wound with a band aide.”

…

So I head out for a run after deciding to scrap this weirdness of cupcakes and band aides from my manuscript, when I reach the front of my neighborhood for a stretch, and look down.

Wouldn’t you know…a cupcake wrapper.

…

Why this, why now?

It has me thinking grander, beyond the grief of the moment of nearly three years ago, to the climate of today.

Depending on whether we see good or bad, positive or negative, is how we handle such things as hardships.

So when we, or others, are a bit restless, pay attention to what may be happening under the surface.

Someone may be struggling in a way you never know.

And if we need an example of how to exhibit sweetness, how about being Fruit of the Spirit sweet to everyone you’re in contact:

Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.