Sometimes even literally.
Last Tuesday, movers came to my apartment to take all of my furniture away to the storage place it will all be for a few months. I've never hired movers before, and my experience certainly didn't go as I had hoped.
For starters, one of the guys smelled like weed and kept asking me questions about my personal life. He even opened up my refrigerator to look inside, claiming he liked to get to know his customers better by doing so. I didn't need him to know much about me—I needed him to get this move accomplished as quickly as possible. So, I was already a tad frustrated, topping off the stress of the enormous amount of packing I still had ahead of me.
Then came the real drama.
I told the movers that I had unplugged the washer and dryer but didn't know how to remove everything else from the wall. One of them said it was no problem and that they had the tools to do so. I didn't need to worry about a thing.
But boy was that false.
The guy who was unhooking the washing machine broke something, and the next thing I knew there was water flooding my floor, and the fellas were yelling for me to call maintenance at my apartment complex. I called in a frenzy as I stepped outside and saw water quickly beginning to cover the entire breezeway as it leaked from my apartment. The maintenance crew got there as fast as it could, though it seems like people never move at the speed you wish during crises.
 |
| Eeeeek! |
The maintenance men came in to save the day (after finally turning the water off) with their giant vacuums, industrial-sized brooms, and boisterous fans. The movers went back to clearing out all of my furniture, while I sat there and stared at the whole scene. All I wanted was a peaceful final two days at the home where I had been for four years, and this is what I got: chaos and flooding.
Unfortunately, there was carpet damage (along with a small hole in the wall from the broken pipe), and yours truly will be charged for the mess. As I drove to the storage unit, I honestly wanted to cry like a baby, because that's how I felt: completely helpless. I had stood in the middle of everything without being able to do anything except soak in all that was happening around me. I had no way of assisting the maintenance men in clearing out the water, and the movers had already told me to stop trying to move furniture with them. So I just stood there in a peaceful manner but not feeling any form of peace.
At all.
When I was home later that night and about to go to bed on some blankets on the ground, I went to charge my phone only to realize my charger had been stolen from the outlet where it normally was behind my missing bed. It felt like a fitting ending to the day.
I laid down and stared up at the ceiling and found myself praising the Lord. Yes, my apartment was a disaster as the loudest fans in the world (clearly not a hyperbolic statement) lulled me to sleep that night; sure, I had been fooled and robbed; of course, I was upset that this would cost me more than I can afford right now; and, absolutely, nothing felt ideal at the moment.
But God is still so good. Always.
I thought about how unthankful I had been throughout the entire day, and that needed to change. Floods are going to happen in life, but God is still always there with you through those challenging times. He might give you a raft or an arc or a high-powered vacuum cleaner of some sort, but he will never just leave you alone to drown. It felt so nice in that instance to feel an overwhelming sense of calming waters instead of roaring tides. So I guess I got my final peaceful evening in my apartment after all.
Don't worry about the floods—they happen, but they can often make you realize just how wonderful and precious life truly is.
And how much bigger our God is than floods.
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