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I was.

Still am on occasion, but far less frequently now. I am a recovering SuperGal, after all.

Saturdays had become my favorite day of the week. It was the only day I didn’t have a standing obligation. The only day I didn’t wait in dread for a client to call me with a problem. The only day I didn’t have to drive 60 or 100 miles because I live far from others in my life. The only day I didn’t have to get up before dawn so I would have enough hours.  

Except I got up before dawn anyway. Because I didn’t want to waste five minutes of a Saturday. I loved them. Yearned for them. Coveted them. Jealously guarded them.

And when they were over, they mostly left me sad and disappointed.

Why? They weren’t long enough. Or accommodating enough. Or fulfilling enough. They didn’t live up to my expectations.

I wanted to fill them with activities with my husband, family and friends. And I wanted to have the whole day to myself. All in the same day.

I know. That’s completely unreasonable. But that’s exactly how I felt. So the only possible outcome was disappointment. And anxiety.

Time anxiety.

Anticipating fun times at parties, barbecues, or concerts, I happily accepted invitations. And I truly would have a good time while I was there.

But if it were an afternoon event, I could feel my happiness slipping away on the drive home. As I counted the hours left in the day, there weren’t enough. I would wish I’d stayed home to do more things.

If it were an evening event, I would start to fret hours ahead about how early I’d have to begin to get ready to go out, which would steal time I had needed to do other things.

Now here’s where it gets really crazy—if I didn’t schedule any activities, I would be happy as a clam. For a few hours in the morning. Then, I would quickly grow restless.

What else could we find to do? Something on my to-do list? Visit the kids or my mom? Call a friend? I couldn't just sit around and waste a Saturday!

What’s more, I would suffer the same anxiety about bedtime. Going to bed meant I had run out of time that day. But I had to get up in four hours to start all over again. So there. I had disappointed myself again. I had failed to do every single thing I wanted to do that day.

Wow. Talk about pressure.

I suffered from clock anxiety all but a few precious hours in the early morning, when the whole day stretched ahead, and I could believe that I would accomplish everything I had in mind.

It was a mess. I was a mess.

No matter how hard or fast I worked, no matter how early I arose or how late I went to bed, I couldn’t outrun time.

 “What’s wrong with me? Why do I feel pressed for time every single moment of my life? I can’t possibly be that much busier than everyone else!”

I asked, so God answered. Thankfully, I heard His answer. 

“It’s not your list of chores. It’s you, and your need to control everything. The day. The future. Instead of trusting Me for your day.”

There. I’d forgotten again.

I’d forgotten to have simple faith and just trust God.

Forgotten that God was more than capable of empowering me to live each day joyfully.

That I needed to ask Him what to do that day. Every day.

        Lean on, trust in, and be confident in the Lord with all your heart and mind and do not rely on your own insight or understanding. 6. In all your ways know, recognize, and acknowledge Him, and He will direct and make straight and plain your paths. Proverbs 3: 5-6 (AMP)

This day, this moment, is the only one that matters. Let the rest of the day, the week, the month take care of themselves.

When I’m in close communication with God, leaning on Him, the clock ceases to be an instrument of torment. When I start to hear it tick, I again remind myself that God’s “got” it.

So I pray. Every day. Often.

What a blessed relief to know that I don’t have to figure it all out anymore. That God can and will handle it all for me.

Today. And tomorrow.