There Are No Other Options.

Sometimes life comes at you really fast.

You feel like you're on a roller coaster; you're going faster and faster and up and down and sideways and the next thing you know, you're upside down, and the scariest part?

You have absolutely no control.

Sometimes it feels like everything is hitting you at the same time, like wave after wave, overwhelming, until all you want to do is stop.

Just stop.

But you can't. No matter how much you want to.

I drove back to school, by myself, last Thanksgiving, during one of the worst snow storms I've ever been through. I tell you, it was terrifying. We--that is, all of us on the freeway--were moving, at our fastest, at about 15 mph. Every few feet, you'd slide and pray that the person behind you wasn't too close. There were times when I could barely make out the car in front of me and I know that one of the only reasons I made it out was because the Lord was watching.

Things hadn't been easy. The road conditions were terrible, my stomach was in knots, and, honestly, my hands hurt a little from holding on so tightly to the steering wheel. I was at the end of my rope; I was holding on by a thread when I looked around and realized where I was. And I about lost the last bit of resolve I had.

There is this hill in between my hometown and Rexburg that is daunting even in the best weather conditions. Several people had already slid off the road and there were people and cars everywhere.

And all I wanted to do was stop. I couldn't do it. I couldn't make it. It was too hard. Too frightening. Too much.

I was so serious about stopping that I started considering my other options.

And that's when it occured to me.

There are no other options.

I couldn't stop. There were people in front of me and behind me. And even if I could stop, right then and there, what would I do? Sit on the top of an icy hill until the storm stopped? Until the ice melted and snow dissolved? I certainly couldn't go back. I couldn't magically freeze time or change my circumstances. There was only one thing to do, one way to move: and that was forward. The only choice was going on, no matter how hard or scary or dangerous, because the other alternatives were ridiculous and virtually nonexistent.

We're in the last week of the semester and again I feel like I'm sitting at the top of that hill, looking over the path I must take because I've chosen it, analyzing the many different slick patches and obstacles I will encounter, and, once again, I'm scared out of my mind. Everything's coming too fast, attacking my physical, my mental, and--especially--my emotional security from all sides. 

But we can't stop. There is no pause button and no way to get out of this without pushing forward. And so we go forward because we have to, because the alternatives don't exist; they aren't possible.

And in a strange kind of way, that brings a tiny bit of comfort, of strength, of resolve. If there is no other option but to push forward and face the dangers and fears and trials head-on, then we might as well do it the best we can. We might as well face them with our heads up, no matter how beaten and bruised we are.

Because there are no other options.

And with that knowledge, and the strength we receive from the our Heavenly Father and the people who love us, we can do this.

We'll not only get through this, we might actually learn from it.

And when we get through the storm, we might even be able to look back and it and laugh a little.