The news and commentary spewing 24/7 from network television is so depressing to me that I have to limit the time I spend watching. I have to remind myself on a daily basis that the politicians, rioters, war-mongers, drug pushers, and money-hungry moguls are not in control. God is. Then. Now. And always. Because I’m a Christian, I know the end of this story.

Still, the heartbreak of watching my country in decline and at great risk of losing the freedoms I grew up with is always somewhere in my mind, just as the hope for the future is always in my prayers.

But once I’ve seen the awful images of unchecked looting and burning and worse, I cannot unsee it. Once the fear takes hold, it’s hard to shake it off, even when I can look out my window and see that my own community appears peaceful and safe, untouched by the madness sweeping the rest of the country. (That’s illusion. My friends on the police force tell me so.)

The broader chaos comes into play, exacerbating everything, when my personal life is suddenly turned upside down. Yesterday was one of those day. 

I’m very close to writing The End on a new thriller, about thirty pages or so. When I turned on my computer, opened the manuscript and started writing, my entire computer screen went black. The backup power did not work. The tower went dark. 

Panic took over. I’m a creative soul, at ease writing, singing, playing piano, dabbling in pottery. But my computer and I have an uneasy relationship. As long as it works, we are fine together. But when anything goes wrong, I feel as if I’ve been cast into a wilderness without a map. I’m not tech savvy. And that’s putting it mildly.

While I desperately tried to get in touch with my tech guru, my washing machine quit. Then the arborist, outside checking to see how he could remove a dead tree that was threatening to fall onto my roof with the next tornado that sweeps through Mississippi, rang the doorbell to tell me he couldn’t get his equipment in to cut the tree. It’s boxed into my small patio by the fence and other large trees. 

Now, understand that I live alone, and my children and grandchildren live far away. In distant states, not cities. 

I wanted to crawl into bed and have a good cry. But I have a commitment to my publisher to meet my writing deadline, and I have never missed one in my thirty-eight-year career. Plus, I have promised to be in a commercial for my bank in three days, and they probably don’t expect me to appear with blotchy red eyes and a puffy face.

 So I soldiered on.   

I can do all things through Christ, which strengthens me. Phillipians 4:13

I’ve scheduled a big cry for four days, after the commercial. Chances are, I’ll skip the cry because I’ll be too busy living in the best, most joyful way I know how. Here’s what Ralph Waldo Emerson had to say about living.

He said, “Write it on your heart that every day is the best day in the year. He is rich who owns the day, and no one owns the day who allows it to be invaded with fret and anxiety. Finish every day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities, no doubt crept in. Forget them as soon as you can, tomorrow is a new day; begin it well and serenely, with too high a spirit to be cumbered with your old nonsense. This new day is too dear, with its hopes and invitations, to waste a moment on the yesterdays.”

Peggy Webb