Glamping in a 20-foot trailer has accentuated what I’d already discovered during 3 months of quarantine in our two story house:

Family is really hard, because love is really hard.

When I said I wouldn’t ride Goliath, I meant it with every ounce of my being. But there I was, standing with my two kids, a close friend, and her two children in line for the coaster that holds THREE Guinness World records for speed, length and steepness of drop.

Your Goliath may be a situation or failure that appears to be bigger than life. It’s a fear, a sense of inadequacy, a frustration, a broken relationship. It might be failing health, your struggling kids, a difficult job or any number of circumstances that seems to be spiraling out of control. Day after day, our Goliaths rear their ugly heads, daring us to take them on.

The day my position was eliminated, I lost so much more than an employer. I lost my confidence. My clarity. My way forward.

There I stood in a hotel room, somehow – uncharacteristically—surrounded by high school girls much older and cooler than me. Awed to be in their presence, I cowardly stood by as they picked apart her every flaw.

I instantly realized that the last time I had seen my wallet was the night before, right before my freefall into a full-blown emotional meltdown.

The gas station is a great candidate for potential zombie apocalypse destinations, since it is well-stocked with canned goods, bottled drinks, paper products, Chap Stick, ibuprofen, toiletries, dice, playing cards, a bathroom, and Hostess snacks.

Suddenly, I realize that I don’t have to drive a thousand miles or make a grand public declaration to set the record straight. I just need to walk around the corner. Look across the lunch table. Slide down the pew.

We claim to trust God with everything, but all too often we act as if we’re out here on our own. We pray for God to “give us this day our daily bread” – then stress out when we forget to bring the crackers.