Taking Myself in Hand at a Time of Transition

Take this in-between, through-the-cracks moment, and be quiet:

You are a person made of dust.

If there is glory to be had, don’t reach for it.

If the office is quiet, and the internet is down, go ahead and breathe.

Work will come, or it won’t.

Remember tea in Lachelle and Brian’s kitchen last night?

Remember sleeping in that big bed for the last time?

Remember entering the dorm office, the air scented with something that harkened you back like laughter continuing from a distant room of friends you’ve just left?

Remember that it’s time to go, and that’s right.
Leave now.

You won’t be alone along this road.

But even if you are alone for a while, and your fears materialize: (they haven’t,  yet, but supposing) your car battery fails, and your phone is maddeningly right where you placed it last night and trustingly left the house this morning---supposing all your first and second plans don’t pan out, I mean:

just wait a moment longer.

Your job becomes simpler: breathe and remember.

Someone has jumper cables. You’re someone’s son, someone’s daughter.

The only real disconnection is separation from God. And, thank God! That’s 
something you can remedy even now.

But back to the car: just know that a thousand possibilities swirl around you in times like these.

Raise your head in wonder, reach up, and pluck one star.

You can keep it.