It was early December. With about 80 Christmas wreaths and 30 plus table arrangements to decorate within the next week, time pressures weighed heavily on me as I hurried off to pick up floral supplies. My mind was racing. A dictator in the Middle East had invaded another country, and the United States was gearing up for a major war. Already my thoughts were engulfed in a private war of their own: “That man’s a ruthless aggressor,” “a brutal oppressor,” “horrific—evil personified!” Rage boiled within.
Just then I spied an unidentifiable plant beside the railroad track. It was drab and colorless, but with berries that could be sprayed red to use in Christmas arrangements. Slamming on the brakes, I jumped out of the car to fill a plastic grocery bag with my new-found treasure, not realizing it was poison ivy.
The next morning, still irritated and angry, I noticed a rash over one of my eyes. Soon it swelled shut, and it wasn’t long before my other eye became inflamed. Distraught, I took my predicament to God: “Everything is going wrong!” I began. “I’m overwhelmed by the looming deadline for these holiday projects, our country is about to go to war, and I am trapped in physical agony! Where are You, and what do You have to say about this?”
