Lessons in disguise?

Last Tuesday night was physically, mentally, and psychologically, exhausting. I left our house at about 6:40 p.m. and headed off to the gym for boot camp! Sasa left at about 7:05 p.m. go to school. Boot camp was a reality check for me in terms of fitness. I was winded within 4.5 minutes into the workout. I threw up halfway into the work out. I kept going and a finished but I felt very defeated. I left that class on the brink of giving up but there was a little part of me which still wanted to come back on Thursday and give it another shot.

As  I drove home I wondered what it was about me when it came to working out. I am determined in every other aspect of my life. I'm determined at work both to do a great job, and to advance, not for the love of money or greed of any kind but to prove to myself what I'm capable of. I keep cooking even though I'm not the best at it, just to prove to myself that I CAN learn and master it. I am determined to learn more about God and grow in my faith so even when I least feel like it, I drag my butt to church and open my hear and mind to what the Lord will have me hear. Working out on the other hand...is an entirely different animal.

When I can't do something at the gym, I give up. I feel so depressed and I feel like it's not even worth trying anymore because I'll never accomplish anything. I keep going to Zumba because it's fun and I have some rhythm but when it comes to running, boot camp, weights or anything else-- if I get winded or tired before I feel I should I feel like throwing in the towel. This will require some prayer and some hard core soul searching. I'll never reach my fitness goals if I quit all the time.

I digress...

I was pulling into the driveway at about 8:15 p.m. I locked the car and proceed to walk up to our gate. I unlocked it and closed it behind me. I unlocked my house and flipped the lights on. Something seemed weird...I looked on the mantle above the fire place where our t.v. is placed but it wasn't there. My eyes drifted lower and I realized our play station was gone and my living room was trashed. Then...I heard footsteps and a banging noise coming from the backyard. A thought came over me and a good one at that..."run back to the car and drive off!" I was panicking at this point because I knew what happened...we were robbed. Afraid to go back home, I called the police. I didn't know if I had seen anyone, or if anyone stayed behind to get some more stuff so I didn't want to take the chance of going home before it was thoroughly checked out. The police found no one and just told me they were filing a report and to write down what was missing.

I feel....violated. I am surprised that I don't feel angry...on the contrary I feel fortunate that I didn't go home any sooner, or God forbid was still at home when someone decided to break in. I still can't be in my house alone. I got it cleaned up and we ordered an alarm system. I keep praying I'll be able to get over this, pray for those who did us wrong, and move on but it's just so hard. It's such a scary feeling being at home alone...I keep an eye out on every door in the house and jump at any sound.

Maybe there is a lesson in disguise in all of this...I just haven't found it yet..

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