Have you ever watched ski jumping, perhaps during the Olympics on tv? And have you ever seen one of the jumpers wipe out when they land, their bodies violently and painfully tumbling down the slope, arms and legs and skis flying everywhere? Ouch.

When that happens, the jumper would likely say he was "out over my skis." It's an expression one of my friends uses frequently. He explains: "When hitting the jump, your body reaches too far forward. Suddenly you're flying through the air with your arms flailing, your head goes past the skis, and you prepare for a crash landing."

I may not be a ski jumper, but I certainly can relate to that sensation. Having hit the invisible jump that launched me in the direction of "too busy," I wonder when my crash landing will take place.

My life is simple in many respects. My freelance work and responsibilities to my family of six are carried out in the comforts of home. But recently I decided my life was getting the best of me.

Plunging down the mountain
My concerns were justified one afternoon when I threw my gigantic, politically incorrect suburban vehicle into reverse to pick up my kids from their one-too-many activities … and felt a thud. I ignored it, assuming I had once again run over the kids' basketball.

Driving home, as we approached our house, I noticed white streamers blowing in the wind at the mouth of our driveway. Confused, I stepped on the gas pedal, rushing to see what they were. Before I could open my mouth, my son asked, "Mom,why are there rolls of toilet paper all over our driveway?" Hmm.

I recalled my earlier trip to the discount warehouse to purchase our month supply of needs, and how I had unloaded and hauled everything into the house. Well, as it turns out, almost everything. As I watched my son pick up dozens of rolls of TP, I realized my life's balance was tipping. I took it as a warning.

Then there was the recent birthday celebration for my husband. I'd set the table early, knowing I'd be at a continuing education class right before the dinner hour. (Why did I ever think that would work?) As I left the house with table set, Chicken Parmesan prepped, and delicious chocolates at the ready, I told the kids to do their homework. I'd even arranged carpools for those needing to be ferried to and from their activities.

	As I'm pulled in multiple directions,I realize I've crowded out the One who promised me peace in the first place.

Driving away feeling smug, I gloated over the way I'd kept all the balls in the air. "Girl, you are good!" I cranked up the volume on my car stereo.

Once home, I finished preparing dinner and caught up with the kids. My husband walked in and our youngest daughter ran to wish him Happy Birthday. I winked at him (still feeling cocky) and kept stirring the sauce.

At that moment, my daughter told everyone that while I was at class, our dog had jumped onto the counter and eaten all the chocolates.

Dropping my spoon, I ran to grab the dog before he barfed up dessert. Too late. Everything he'd ingested sprayed across the kitchen floor.

The kids screamed, the dog howled, and I, once again, felt like that ski jumper, out over my skis. As I tried to wrestle the dog outside before his next upheaval, I remembered someone telling me that chocolate could kill a dog.

I hoped it would.

The evening ended with us sitting quietly around the dinner table, contemplating burnt chicken. The dog was recovering behind closed doors. My husband, who never wanted a dog, was understandably … agitated. The kids stared at their plates in morose silence. My heartbeat picked up—I could feel the crash coming.

I know I'm not the only one who thinks life is too busy. As I'm pulled in multiple directions, enticed by worthy causes and stressed by family schedules, my peace evaporates, and I realize I've crowded out the One who promised me peace in the first place.

Be still and know …
A few weeks ago, I was digging through a chest while at my mom's house. It was filled with old linens, and I pulled out a beautiful pillowcase embroidered with forget-me-nots. When I asked my mother where she'd bought it, she told me her mother made it. She went on to share that her family not only embroidered their sheets, but wove the cotton fabric itself.

Who makes their own sheets? My eyes glazed over as she described the family loom and the weaving process. Oh, my. My family barely has time to make their beds.

Even though I envied my mother's generation for their ability and time to weave pillowcases, I certainly didn't want to go back to the days of looms. What I do want is to make the most of our modern conveniences and life's opportunities without allowing them to send me "out over my skis," crashing down the mountain of life.

God calls us to "be still and know" that He is God (Ps. 46:10). That thought calms me. Jesus daily went off alone to pray in the midst of his crowded days. How can I enjoy God's company and be filled with His peace unless I spend time with Him?

How can I do less and be more?

The questions continue, and I know I must stop to answer them. But perhaps the answer lies not in the doing, but in just being … still. It's impossible to be "out over my skis" when my life isn't flying down a slope—or hurtling through the air, out of control.

Be still.

More and more, I like the sound of those words.

Eileen Sommi is a freelance writer who lives in New York. Her writing includes song lyrics, articles, devotionals, and her ongoing book project, Growing Pain.

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