My life is filled with numbers.
I wake in the morning and walk to the kitchen, where I tackle those glasses of water. Three now, two before lunch, four more between lunch and dinner. That will make ninety ounces. Midway through that first glass, I remember how much I don’t like the taste of water in the morning.
Strap on the pedometer. The goal is 10,000 steps by sundown. Toward that end, if the weather permits, I will find a space in this day’s madness to trot down the front porch stairs, down the driveway, turn right, and walk to Getchell Road. That will take 45 minutes and carve 5,600 steps from my goal. If the weather doesn’t permit, it’s 45 minutes on the treadmill at a 15% incline.
Work in twenty push-ups, thirty crunches, and three sets of ten reps of flys.
Eat. Try to spread it out. Six small meals per day is preferable. Find something into which I can stir 1/2 teaspoon of cinnamon, the new wonder spice. Eat one pound of raw veggies, one pound of cooked veggies, one pound of fruit.
Edit. 140,000 words and 28 chapters total, of which I need to finish 12 chapters over the next five weeks if I’m to meet my deadline.
Numbers, numbers, numbers. They swirl in a dizzying circle. They shout for attention. I’m living inside a ten-key, jumping to the demands of those numbers. But somewhere in between the counting and calculating, the ticking and tabulating, I hear a familiar whisper:
Shannon, Shannon, He says, you are worried and bothered about so many things; but only one thing is necessary.
Ah, Lord. Break me free. Insert Yourself in this day and save me from these numbers. Today, Lord Jesus, be my One thing.