You are the God of my valleys, too.

With a palpable twinge in my lower back and a slight right wrist inflammation (blame my overzealous top-spin endeavors), Nacho the resident physiotherapist told me to take the morning off and to just hit for an hour this afternoon.  I was really looking forward to practice.

But things can always change, right?

15 minutes into the hour, in between balls and loosening, warm sinews, one of the staff from the office came up to me on court.  His lips were fixed, his voice soft but unyielding.

"Sarah, we need you to work now.  The tournament office needs help with players that are coming in and we're understaffed."

I stopped halfway through the rally.  Wha-?

For obvious reasons, I couldn't say no, screw you, I just started, let me finish my practice. 

The Academy's having another European Junior Tour Tournament this weekend, and its brilliant planning endeavors and logistical foresight saw that they needed one more person to help service tournament desk, 10 minutes before all the tournament players were due to arrive.  I suppose better later than never.  And as such, I was asked to hurry the office to help, pronto.  Even with sweat still oozing from my pits, and my cheeks flushed red from practice.  Yes.  Help.  No, work.  Now.

When I rushed to office, disappointingly, all I did was sit on green plastic chair.  Most of my time there was spent waiting around, with no instruction on any work to do.  As my body slowly cooled down, I tried to distract myself from my depressing state.  Come on, Sarah.  Ignore the adrenaline that is still pumping in your body from practice.  My eyes searched the courts through big glass panes.  It watched other, more fortune(ate) kids playing tennis.  Laughing, hitting balls.  My mind inevitably thought how tennis is so easily a rich man's sport.

That was at 3.15pm.  And my day at work just ended about an hour ago.

I am tired.  I have a 7.45am practice tomorrow, for an hour before I start work at 9.  It will be another whole day affair.  And while I will be taking photographs of other rich kids hitting lazy tennis balls, this will pay for my tennis fees. I suppose this is an opportunity to be grateful for.

Honestly, it is easy to feel off with injury and a lack of training opportunity.  To be snatched from practice in the name of work.  Damn work.  Still, I sense God is urging me to stand firm on His word.  I hear His still quiet voice telling me that His word is truth.  And that it is the only thing that will hold in this world that is so naturally unstable. 

Wait.  Again.  What will hold?

The grace of my Lord Jesus Christ.  That though He was rich, yet for my sake He became poor, that I through His poverty might become rich. (2 Cor 8:9)  I believe this richness 2 Corinthians mentions, includes a supernatural strength that out stands these temporal frustrations. 

When I quieten down and think about it, I am convinced that they are nothing compared to the joy that I find in Christ my Savior.  Nothing!