My five year old niece stared unhappily at the handwriting task her mom had just assigned.
“I don’t know why, but this just makes me feel like crying!“
I totally get that, my nice niece. For you, it is handwriting. For me, it is paperwork. What my friend calls Yucky Papers. Under the best of circumstances, the most I hope for is a temporary truce with Yucky Papers. But I’m finding paperwork is no respecter of persons. It just comes and comes and keeps on coming. It cares not that the bottom of your world has dropped out. It simply wants to know what you plan to vote on your IRA shares? And whether you would like to make any changes to your car insurance? How about your homeowners’? Would you like to sign up for different health insurance coverage? Are you sure? (Reasonable rates….) Well — would you like to switch to Comcast? We know we already asked you two other times this week, but we want to be sure. And would you like to contact the transplant recipients of your loved one’s gifts of life? Would you like to pay for your new school tax bill in three easy payments? (If not, remember you will need to find a couple thousand dollars in your sofa cushions between now and the due date.)
So considering the relentless nature of paperwork, it’s not hard — especially when you factor in wrenching life changes — to find weeks can go by without balancing the checkbook or getting to the drifting stacks of paperwork begging for answers. I want to say to someone, Do I look qualified to make all these decisions? Do I look as if I know I should go to Good Deal Place A for my oil change instead of Bargain Place B? Could everyone just freeze for a minute so I could catch my breath and get caught up, all the way caught up, having made wise decisions every step of the way?
I’m finding it helps to remember that many issues can honestly wait for a while, that the world will not grind to a halt if every single judgement that could be reached is not reached right here and now.
It also helps to set a timer and work through a specific stack, or to recycle the junk immediately on my way in the house from the mailbox. That still leaves a lot of legitimate mail, for which knowledgable friends have thankfully, kindly, steered me to solid decisions.
Plus, I can always start a new pile.
And in the wearying midst of the minutiae comes the refreshing presence of Emmanuel — aka “God with us” — who sits with us not just at Christmas, but at our daunting desks in July, saying, “Peace. Be still.”