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A few weeks ago my entire world seemed to be underwater. I don’t mean that metaphorically. I mean literally. Under. Water.

During the afternoon I ran out to the garage (where our laundry lives) to move a load of clothes from the washer to the dryer and stepped in a huge puddle. Oh joy. Our washing machine had overflowed. Again.

It does this on a fairly regular basis. Every few months we call the plumber and explain to one more technician that yes, we have terrible pipes and this happens all the time and could you please just snake the drain and not tell us that we need to replace all the pipes in, under and around our house, thank you very much.

Thankfully – although also frustratingly – I realized that our garage lake was not the result of a plumbing issue this time. Nope. I’d dropped a sock and it made its way to the drain and plugged it all up.

A bit later, I picked up Annalyn from school. It had rained earlier that day (see? UNDERWATER), so I didn’t think too much about her backpack being a little damp when she climbed in the car. But as she dragged it into the house and I saw water dripping out of it, I realized something else was going on.

Like every afternoon I reminded her to empty her backpack – show me her take-home folder, empty her lunchbox, put her freezer pack in the freezer. That’s when she said, “Um, Mommy? I forgot . . .”

What did she forget? TO SCREW ON THE LID TO HER WATER BOTTLE. Her half-full water bottle. And the other half-full water bottle from the day before. (Note to health nuts: This is why I opt for not-really-juice juice boxes instead.)

Because her backpack is so well insulated or water resistant or whatever, it had held most of the water from the past two days inside. I literally had to POUR OUT the water from her bag. And dry it out . . . along with that take-home folder and her library book. And then, you know, write a letter to the librarian offering to pay for the now-water-damaged book.

The last straw of my water-logged day was when I noticed my fridge leaking. Again.

I’m not sure what’s going on, but for about two months now, our refrigerator has been alternately freezing our food (in the fridge part and not the freezer) and leaking water all over our food . . . and our kitchen floor. It’s also managed to create – on its own! such a talented appliance! – a fantastic ice skating rink on the bottom shelf of our freezer that is so lovely and thick that a butter knife (my ice weapon of choice) won’t even make a dent.

So. To recap: It rained. And the washing machine overflowed. And her backpack held all the water previously contained in two water bottles. And the fridge leaked all over the floor.

At that point, I didn’t have a single dry towel left in the house. And I was pretty sure I never wanted to see another drop of water. At least for a day.

Ever had a day like that?

When You Feel Like You're Drowning

Some days are just like that – all drips and puddles and floods. Some days can leave you feeling all wet. Breathless. In need of a warm, dry towel – or a life preserver.

{Yes, now I’m talking metaphorically.}

In case your weekend was more putting out fires than catching up on rest . . .

In case your Monday morning has already trashed your new week intentions . . .

In case you’re not sure how you’ll make it to the weekend or the afternoon or the morning coffee . . .

In case your pregnancy symptoms now include insomnia, sinus infection-induced asthma attacks, heartburn, constipation and a few things even more embarrassing than all that . . . (What’s that? That’s just me? Good. YOU DON’T WANT THIS.)

In case your heart beats too fast when you glance sidelong at your to-do list and looming deadlines . . .

In case your heart breaks when you look at your family, your husband, your child, your desk, your Facebook feed, the bills, the hospital bed, the empty chair, your life . . .

I want to tell you (and me) to hold on.

HOLD ON.

Hold on and keep walking, one foot in front of the other.

The surface may be slippery and your legs wobbly, but don’t stop. Reach for that orange circle of hope – that person who believes in you, that long-lost dream that won’t fade away already, that mustard seed of faith that even in THIS, there is a purpose and a plan.

Hold on.

Some days the drips turn into puddles turn into lakes turn into oceans with tides and waves and sea monsters (or, as you might call them, fish). But eventually the tide will go back out and the towels – and tears – will dry. The flood – whether literal or figurative – never lasts forever. So until then, HOLD ON.

Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful.
Hebrews 10:23

What do you hold onto when you feel like you’re drowning?

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