I freak out three or four times a year. It’s so consistent that I refer to it as my Quarterly Early Midlife Existential Panic Attack (QEMEPA). I wake up one morning and think, “Where is my life going? Why am I not making more money by now? How am I going to put quadruplets through college? My work makes me happy, but is this what I’m supposed to be doing? Can I make more money and still be happy? Have my pants shrunk or is it me?” These episodes last for about a week, leading to reckless behavior. I start exploring new career opportunities with wild abandon. I listen to get-rich-quick infomercials for a full thirty seconds before changing the channel. I eat and drink too much and sleep too little. I have grandiose visions of wealth and success one minute, then see portents of poverty and despair the next. But I usually calm down in a few days. I’ll have a good day at work or maybe some good luck will come my way. My wife will say something reassuring and my kids will remind me, through their mere existence, that my life has plenty of joy.
My latest QEMEPA was more resilient than most. It lasted over two weeks with no end in sight. It was so bad that I hit the Prayer Panic Button. While I was driving to work, I begged God to do something that would make me feel better right away. Of course, I don’t think God really works that way. I believe that God does stuff on God’s time, and it’s usually not a good idea to rush him. It’s kind of like yelling at grandma to serve the Christmas turkey before it’s done cooking. This time, however, I wanted God to throw me a drumstick because I felt like I was starving. I was hoping for something financial—not lottery winnings, just a small sign that I would be able to support my family over the long haul.
By that afternoon, God still hadn’t returned my call. During a break between clients, I went running to burn off the stress. I ran hard. We’re talking fast repeats up a steep hill. After that, I didn’t feel as much stress, mostly because I was too tired to feel anything. As I cooled down and jogged back to my office, I started praying again.
“God,” I said. “I really don’t need much. Just—”
I saw something blocking my path. It was so out of place that it took my brain a few seconds to figure out what my eyes were seeing. In the middle of the sidewalk stood three peacocks, standing in a line across my path, about six inches apart from each other. All their heads were cocked to the left, staring right at me. The symmetry was so distinct that they looked like Vegas showgirls frozen in the middle of performance.
Peacocks didn’t belong here. They might have come from Huntington Gardens, but that was three miles away through busy streets. I had a better chance of seeing three possums in a conga line.
I slowed to a walk. They remained still as I approached, watching me in all their green and blue glory. I stepped aside and passed them on the grass. Their heads pivoted in unison me, observing me as I passed. They didn’t seem frightened or even curious. It was as if they were saying, “You see us and we see you. Satisfied?”
I started running again as a smile spread across my face. Then it turned into a chuckle. Then I was laughing so hard that I had to stop running. I felt both overjoyed and silly for forgetting something very important: God is an artist.
If you’re like me, you want direct answers from God. You want problems solved fast. Sometimes that’s what we need and God is gracious enough provide it. But I think he prefers to paint us a picture. He shows off just a little bit of his love and power to calm us down. By sending those three peacocks into my path, God gave me all the reassurance that I needed. He told me, “I’m here. I love you. That’s all you need to know.”
