Mondays are hard. After worrying a goodly portion of yesterday about how I am going to teach the first of four "last week of the Savior" lessons, I just gave it over to the Lord. They are his kids--I just crawl out of bed every morning, yelling at myself as if I were my mother--there is a lot of "First Name, Middle Name" scoldings that go on between 5 and 5:15 am. I semi-swear at my car for whining at me to put on my seat belt (just explode already!), and I half-yell at the stupid light at the corner of S. Roxboro and MLK for taking sooooo long.
And then I drag myself in--rather than arriving the 10 minutes before as I planned, it was only 5 minutes--possibly 3--the latest I've been since starting a little over a month ago. And a member of the D2 bishopric has decided to visit. Seriously? On a Monday? That is just cruel.
I say a prayer that somehow I will make it through Matthew 24 (And Joseph Smith-Matthew, which I always forget about) and have something good to say. The rest of the week, though much more intense, seems much easier somehow. And despite feeling not as prepared and knowing that the lesson is only okay, I am surprised as things come out of my mouth I didn't even remember that I knew--and other things I never prepared for. Despite everything, I am pleasantly surprised that it went well. Especially when the Brother walks up to me and says, "Thank you--that lesson was fantastic! I wish I had more time for stuff like this!"
And as I drive to work, I think about all the other people on the road, and how they don't even know that seven freshman and sophomores (and one adult man) and I had a gospel discussion on the second coming as taught by Christ this morning. No matter what I do today, I know that the accomplishment of getting through that lesson was probably the most important thing that I will do. And it was all done before the sun came up.