One Saturday in late May during my senior year in high school, my hometown in Minnesota was struck by a ferocious wind storm. Quite suddenly the power went out, and as a bolt of lightning illuminated the backyard, my family and I were dismayed to see that our largest weeping willow had been ripped apart by the wind, and one of its branches had fallen straight across the power lines, knocking out our electricity.
There was nothing to do but dig out a few candles and head to bed, hopeful that, by the next morning, our electricity would be restored. To our chagrin, Sunday morning dawned and the neighborhood was still without power. As I got ready for church that morning, it seemed that all I could think about were the many things I had to do that day—pressing tasks that all required electricity. I was particularly worried about the mountains of schoolwork that I needed to tackle. Not only did these assignments require a computer, but they also had to be completed that afternoon, since a commitment with my high school concert band would be keeping me busy that evening.
Driving home from a friend's house a bit later that day, I was about as stressed-out as I'd ever been. It was now mid-afternoon, and though electricity had been restored in other parts of the city, our entire neighborhood was still without power. I knew other people were also inconvenienced, and perhaps had more serious problems, but I was frustrated and worried about my own circumstances. Then, to top it all off, I suddenly felt a really bad cold coming on.
