In God's hands

Something was wrong. It was about 5:30 a.m. Friday morning that my body woke me and brought me to this conclusion.
My left hand was itching. And not in the 'lookout now! I got some money coming' kind of way. It felt like I had my hand had been bitten by 100 mosquitoes. I got up and turned on a light to view the hand that was surely swollen and inflamed. nothing. I was beginning to feel uneasy. Something was wrong. But what?
I'd prayed over my family. Things were good, great even. We were speaking God's word like middle schoolers speak 'yo mama' jokes. My husband and I were even discussing, planning for our approach to teaching our child the word of God.
But something was terribly wrong.
I went back to sleep.
Three hours later, as I read the morning news updates on my phone it hit me.
I had skimmed headlines about the Indonesian volcano story all week. But I never seemed to have the time to read it. That morning however, I had a little more time. I didn't have to read past the first sentence to realize what was wrong in my life.
You see, amid all of the disaster stories in the news — those stories about other people in other countries with problems other than your own – there was one, on the other side of this planet, that applied directly to me.
My best friend, Irma Paramitha and her family live in Yogyakarta where the volcano erupted. And all week I had been reading about Kanye West and 'For Colored Girls' and Lindsay Lohan. while someone I loved was literally dealing with disaster.
ugh. what's up with that.
So of course, that's when the Devil hit me!
"How could I be such a bad friend," I cried to my husband.
He told me things would be alright.
"I can't believe, I didn't think about it until now,"I weeped to my friend.
She told me not to worry.
"What if she didn't make it," I worried over the computer.
The news stories reported most had evacuated and the dead were mostly farmers.
"I'm just so worried about my friend," I sniffled to my daughter.
She told me God would take care of my friend.
And then the Devil gave up, I suppose, because any guilt, worry or distress I had felt melted away.
I cried about it. I prayed about it. There was nothing more that I could do. And my baby was right. The situation was and is completely in God's hands.