Today I was with my first grade son in line at Jo-Ann’s to buy elastic (part of a TMNT shell modification to hold smoke bombs, of course) when the older gentleman directly ahead of me turned around and asked me if he could speak to my son. I said, “Sure.” The man said, “Young man, do you want to hear a joke?” It went something like this:

“What did one snowman say to the other snowman?”

“What?”

“Do you smell carrots?”

It took a little explanation for my boy to quite get it. But then he thought it was funny. The man took his turn at the register, we took ours, and I’ll probably never see him again.

Why do I tell this story? Mostly because I’ve been thinking a lot about control this week. I have been really up and down creatively and professionally. Few would know it because I generally keep my struggles to myself (that’s the German Protestant side of the family coming out). I don’t broadcast my troubles to the world. Except for my husband and a few very close friends, no one would know the mental and emotional state I’m in is anything but balanced and generally positive. This isn’t because I’m putting on a front or trying to craft a life that seems perfect. It’s because 1.) everyone has enough troubles of their own (many light years worse than my own) and 2.) it’s no one’s business.

What does this have to do with snowmen smelling carrots? (It’s because their noses are carrots, by the way.)

There’s so little in life over which we exercise any real control. Most of the time, we can’t control who talks to us or what they might say. I was so taken aback that this man asked my permission to talk to my son, it shook me out of my standard way of interacting with strangers (which is basically to ignore them unless they engage me, and then, using lightning swift and probably premature judgment based on age, sex, dress, and whether or not I’m hangry, to determine if I will immediately be on the defensive or will give them the benefit of the doubt). This man gave me the option to shut him down before the conversation even started. Of course I didn’t (who would?) and of course after I said he could talk to my son, he might have said any number of inappropriate or terrible things. But he put the control in my hands.

I can’t make my house worth what it was worth when we bought it. I can’t give myself a promotion. I can’t make people take a chance on my writing. I can’t make an overly sensitive person chill out. I can’t raise the temperature outside above freezing (or even raise it one degree). I can’t stop my son from growing. I can’t make my dog’s back legs work better.

But there’s a lot I do have control over. I can keep my house clean and livable. I can do my best work each day. I can keep improving. I can disengage from people that baffle me and go buy a plane ticket to visit a childhood friend I miss terribly. I can put on another pair of socks. I can enjoy this moment in time. I can let my dog lick leftover syrup from the breakfast plates.

Writing this post won’t get me over what’s bothering me right now. I wish it would. Time, prayer, and likely the changing of the seasons in a month or so will help. But in the meantime, I’m trying to focus on what I can control and leave the rest up to Providence.