In seasons of pressure, increase your PSI

This essay was first published on The Daily BS on Jan. 25, 2025.

Like many of our fellow Americans, this past Monday found us at home on the sofa, riveted, as we watched the inauguration of our 47^th president, Donald J. Trump. Watching the pomp and circumstance, I said to my husband, “These traditions are important.”

Humankind, I believe, has always marked significant events with ceremonies and rituals. They create a sense of belonging and connection, and they remind us that there are things in life that are greater than ourselves. For a short time, we pause our daily lives to come together and say, “This is important.” Whether we are celebrating happy occasions or grieving a loss, there is consolation in doing so in community.

For the teenager in our home, it was an exciting day. He had just voted in his very first election, and he was seeing the results of his (and many others’) choice.

Now, several days post inauguration, a couple of things have occurred to me upon reflection. The first one is the dawning realization of how much pressure I’d been feeling. After the dismal results of the 2020 election and the resulting four years of lawfare, censorship, and persecution of conservatives and Christians, turning the ship around seemed a near impossibility. Then Trump began to rally—literally—and I felt hope.

Two assassination attempts later, it became clear how murderous was the hatred in certain sectors. Would he even stay alive to see the election? It was a relevant question on many minds. When the unthinkable occurred (a Trump landslide) on a gray November day, we rejoiced that we’d seen the impossible happen before our very eyes even as we held our collective breath to see if he would make it to the inauguration.

The immense relief that swept through me was indescribable. The depth of this relief told me precisely how much pressure I’d been under, and it highlighted the dread I’d carried. Now, not only had he won, but he was finally in the Oval Office, safe and sound, going to work on our behalf.

Pressure. Dread. Relief. These three words sum up a common, human experience.

In this life, we simply cannot avoid seasons of intense pressure. As much as we squirm and wriggle, machinate and strive, those times will come, and they often stay far longer than we would like.

Scientifically, pressure, or “the force applied perpendicular to the surface of an object per unit area,” is measured in units known as PSI, or pounds per square inch. Using numbers, we can quantify the pressure in, say, a tire. Emotionally, however, there are no tidy units, no gauges that can accurately measure the crushing weight of our travail. We simply know that every fiber is being stretched to near breaking, that relief is nowhere in sight. And cue the dread.

Dread means “to anticipate with alarm, distaste, or reluctance.” It is hard, I know, to think clearly in these dark and lonely places. It is hard to imagine an end that is good. It’s impossible to see a way out. I do know, for I have walked these corridors many times.

Here is what I also know. When I feel my PSI (pounds per square inch) rising into the red, that is my sign to intentionally raise my other PSI level (prayer per square inch). When dread rolls in like the tide, threatening to swallow me whole, I turn to prayer, and that is when I feel it.

On my back, I feel yet another kind of pressure. It is the touch of an unseen hand, comforting me, supporting me, and guiding my very steps.

One Sunday as we stood to sing in the congregation, I looked down at my smallest boy who was standing beside his father. Happy as a little lark, he was, and I saw that there upon his shoulder rested his father’s hand. He glanced up at me, and the smile upon his face was free and warm. Far from being constricting or restraining, the pressure of that hand upon his back was consoling. In that touch, he felt all the love and safety that a father affords, and he was beaming.

In our lives, it is the high-pressure times that produce the gems. Just as diamonds are formed through intense temperature and pressure in the darkness below the earth’s crust, so our character is formed. And just as it requires a volcanic eruption to bring them forth to the surface, just so it is for us. Time, darkness, heat, and pressure, culminating in an explosive thrust, all of these together do their work, and the priceless gems, at last appear.

For all who, like me, have placed their faith in God, this is our happy lot. Through prayer, we can find relief from dread amid any crisis. We can, like my son, revel in the touch of the unseen hand upon our backs, knowing we are being guided every step of the way, sure that our end will be far better than our beginning. All we must do is ask.

Every Saturday morning, America’s small, caffeinated mom appears on the nationally-syndicated James Golden Radio show. There, they discuss the weekly topic over shared mugs of coffee.