The past week has been crazy. Between school, work, extra-curriculars and all the wonderful responsibilities that come with publishing/marketing a book, I feel like I've spent the last seven days running around like a headless chicken. I felt like every minute had to be productive- that I couldn't afford to relax for a second, because there were just too many things to get done in too little time. Stress was high, and I was starting to wonder if I could handle everything at once.
And then Sunday came along, and as it always does, brought me back to reality.
All the things that constantly scream for my attention during the week, all the obligations that have me scrambling from morning to night, milking every minute, somehow seem less important when I'm sitting in the house of God. All the stress I should have felt yesterday from all those things I could have been doing looked very, very small next to the God who created the universe- the God who put me where I am, with all these things to do, for a time, for a purpose, and for my good. He is the only thing that's really, truly real. Everything else- this world, school, life, and even The Heir of Ariad- are all gifts from Him, and they're all temporal. He is the one that will decide where they go. He's in control. Not me.
That's why I love Sundays. They point me back to God. They remind me of what's real in a world where nothing is, and make everything that seems so big look smaller next to Him. Sometimes the best inspiration comes from remembering that in the end, I'm not the real author. He is. He made me, He brought me here, and just like I wouldn't leave Kyrian hanging, He won't leave my story unfinished.