5:30 AM, my alarm goes off and I pray for the feeling of sadness and dread to go away.
7 AM, sitting at my desk, buried in papers and lesson plans, I take a deep breath and forget that I woke up with sadness, put on my happy face, and I get to work.
11:30 AM, eating lunch with my friends, I take out my iPod and catch up on Twitter and my RSS feed, focusing on my digital world as an escape.
3:45 PM, working with my newspaper staff to finish our first issue, they make me laugh and they make me think, and for a couple of hours, I feel like I am actually making a difference.
7:30 PM, running on the treadmill, I realize after 17 minutes that I am hollow, going through the motions, and the TV show playing in front of me is horribly romantic and the sadness returns.
10 PM, on my knees at my bedside, I pray for my friends, for my students, for my family. I pray that I'll sleep through the night and that somehow I will wake up feeling like I did last week—normal, happy, over him. And then I pray for two men. For the one who said goodbye, I pray that the miracle he desires will happen. For the one I've yet to meet, I pray that he is well, and on his way to me soon.
Yesterday over at Segullah, a woman posted about the concept of God closing doors and opening windows, and she presents the idea that God might not work that way, rather closed doors are somehow meant to transform us. In the past six weeks, with a door slammed in my face, I have seen tiny transformations in myself. I am feeling more dependent on God now than I was on my mission or in grad school.
That is a pretty good transformation to make, right?