Time to Let Go

I don't know why this has come as such a surprise for me, but we're broke.  Like, really really short on cash.  Peter just got done with school three weeks ago, and although he's been working his tail off in those three weeks (at both of his old jobs), we haven't seen those paychecks yet.  Our last financial aid check came many, many moons ago, and there are no more coming. 

How are we going to pay our bills?  Cripes!

Well, we do have a plan (of course we do, this is US we're talking about!).  We're selling my car.  My beloved, trustworthy, shiny, luxurious Subaru Outback.  The nicest car I have ever driven, let alone owned.  My four-wheeled baby.  We have to let her go.

She's so, so pretty.

We have another car, a far less sexy vehicle with much less leg room and a severe lack of cool factor.  It's a 1999 Ford Contour.  I consider it the overweight, middle-aged, menopausal woman of the car world.  But here's the Contour's biggest appeal: it's paid for.  And the Subaru ain't.

I consider my Ford Contour to be the Susan Boyle of the automotive world.  There's technically nothing wrong with it, but it still somehow leaves a lot to be desired.

So chalk this one up as one more sacrifice we're having to make in order to survive.  If we sell my gorgeous car, we get rid of over $4,000 of debt, relieve ourselves of a $200 monthly payment, and have enough left over to pay the mortgage this month (we don't have any other plan for paying the mortgage, by the way, so if you happen to know someone who wants to buy my car, please let me know ASAP).

Dave Ramsey would be so darn proud of us.

This is a time of uncertainty for us.  An up-in-the-air, nothing-is-for-sure, we'll-have-to-figure-it-out-as-we-go sort of a time.  A time of plan A, plan B, plans C through Q.  I feel like I'm walking around with a huge question mark hanging over my head.

I don't do well flying by the seat of my pants.  I don't like giving up my nice things because I can't afford the payments.  I get anxious when I don't feel like I know with certainty where I'll be living two years from now.  I like stability.  I like predictability.  I like knowing where the road I'm on is going to end up. 

I like being in control. 

There, I said it.

And now, seeing it written there on the page, I can see how ridiculous of a statement it is.  It's like saying, "I like being a platypus" or "I really enjoy having seven arms."  It's just not the case.  I'm not in control.  I never was.  I never will be.

Not that there's anything wrong with being a platypus, mind you.

So how can I cope during this time when even my most beloved illusion - the illusion of being in control - can't stand up to the reality I'm living in?

I think the only answer is to focus on the real truth: God is in control, He has my best interests in mind, and I just need to trust Him.  We will get through this, somehow, and six months from now I'm going to come back and read this blog post and laugh.  Not just at the Susan Boyle joke, but at myself and how worried I was.