Sometimes it isnít the bad weeks that make my heart race -- itís the busy ones.

The late-night work events. The meeting with the higher-ups. The talk at church. The paperwork piling up at home and pushing against a deadline.

All good things. All things I wanted to do.

Still, I woke up last week feeling nervous and rushed. My drive to work came to almost a complete halt about the time I reached Holy Sepulchre Cemetery and its neighboring road construction. I drummed my fingers and tapped my foot, urging the cars ahead of me to move. I wanted to be really early for work so I could move a few things off my to-do list before my meetings even started for the day. Maybe then I could relax my shoulders a little. Maybe then I could settle into a comfortable pace.

But instead I drove 3 mph and stopped. Then, 5 mph and stopped again across from stone crosses and angels with their wings spread protectively over graves. Some newer cemeteries donít allow for tall statues on headstones. Some even ask that headstones be flat and easy to mow around, but I like the older style with its symbolism, with its reminders that God is with us in death.

Thatís what Iím thinking while my heart and mind are speeding and my car is idling. Iím thanking God for comfort and protection -- and for angels of all forms that surround us when weíre hurting and grieving. And just about the time the traffic clears, so does my mind.

If I can trust God in the worst of times, surely I can trust him in the busiest of times.

If God carried me when Daddy died, then a big meeting is nothing in comparison. If powerful angels spread their wings over us when weíre most broken, perhaps they walk alongside us when weíre just meandering outside the lines of our comfort zone.

By the time I reached the expressway, itís my car thatís going faster and my soul thatís more at rest.

MAY I RECOMMEND: If youíre looking for a way to renew your spirit, I have a free 7-day email series that starts next week. Just visit by April 22, and slip your email in the box on the right side of the page. Iíd love to have you join us.

-- Marketta Gregory is a former religion reporter who canít stop writing about what is sacred and holy. She is a native of Oklahoma but makes her home in Rochester, New York, with her husband, two crazy boys and one very vocal Pomeranian. Find more of her writing at or check out her book, ďSimply Faithful: Finding the Sacred in Everyday Life.Ē