My gut reaction when things don’t go my way is to throw an epic pity party.  That’s right.  I sit and mope and feel sorry for myself.  I wish it came across as being thoughtfully withdrawn and slightly morose, but no.  My pity parties make a sleep deprived two year old cheerful by comparison.  It is awful.  (and embarrassing, in retrospect)

So I logged on to Facebook, and this is what I read:

“Having a pity party is a good clue you are relying on your own strength and not God’s.”

It was Lysa TerKeurst‘s status.

(Please excuse my Lysa TerKeurst addiction right now.  At the moment, she is VERY relevant to me.)

It was like a slap in the face – not a mean one, but the kind you give a person in hysterics.

God has this.  I don’t have to sort it.  I don’t have to figure it out.  I don’t have to process.  I don’t have to bury.

I do have to stop sulking.