I’m second-guessing every thing. From my garments to my meals to my music to my time. Granted, it’s spring, and the climate, even in easy-going northern California, is everywhere, and Justin and I work outdoors quite a bit—so every morning, relying on transportation (bike or automotive?) and whether or not it’s wet or chilly or windy or sunny, I stuff my bag with clothes layers, together with all of the books or journals or tech stuff we want whereas we’re out. What is going to I would like? What ought to I count on from a day?
I inform my mates issues are easier residing at my father-in-law’s home, with a lot much less to maintain. I understand how a lot time I spent, earlier than we moved, cleansing and organizing—and, even, cooking. However now that the 2 boys have been gone through the faculty yr, away at school, and it’s simply the three of us, plus Fulton—and now that we live in tight quarters for a couple of months whereas our home is being renovated, there may be much less housekeeping to do. And that’s good, in some methods. However in different methods, I’ve misplaced my footing. There’s a value, I feel, to shedding a way of place.
For I’m discovering that this mindset of temporariness is tiring. Dwelling in a state of flux, transferring, on the whole, makes me really feel a bit the wrong way up. Rhythms I used to like—getting up early, discovering a quiet place on my own to hear and pray and write—even figuring out, at midnight, earlier than the home stirred—I’ve placed on maintain. I may nonetheless do them—however I’m not combating for these issues, like I used to. I discover myself, an increasing number of, doing what is straightforward moderately than what may be finest. My coronary heart looks like it’s in a holding sample—not feeling as deeply, not listening as intently, not responding as readily. I’m sleepy, so sleepy. Oh, God, assist me get up.
The practices I used to ascribe to—meditation, contemplation, letting Scripture information and encourage and lead me to locations deep, deep inside me, sparking my creativeness and igniting creativity—are merely reminiscence. After I lay right down to sleep and am full of anxious ideas, my thoughts clings to these vivid photographs of what, prior to now—months in the past—God spoke and confirmed to me in prayer. Not as we speak, not yesterday, not now.
So I’m turning now, turning again to what I knew, turning towards who I’ve all the time recognized—and this implies selecting to see him on this second, and this second, too, right here. I’m lonely and misguided and untethered when I’m not giving my coronary heart what it wants most: time with my Father, time with Jesus, time with Holy Spirit inside me.
Lord, be my regular place, my rooted place, my basis that I take with me and by no means go away. Assist me miss you. Assist me keep determined for you. Assist me be ever hungry for you. You’re freedom and I select you now.
Will you be part of me, pal, in contemplating what’s one thing you’ve misplaced and need to discover? One thing shut however elusive. One thing you knew. One thing misplaced. One thing that was acquainted to y0u—an expertise, a sense, an emotion—however from which you now really feel (emotionally or bodily) eliminated?
Take heed to your coronary heart. What’s it telling you? Are you able to give it phrases now? Maybe, be part of the ladies at Loop Poetry Project and write a poem and share it too? Be taught more here.
I’d love to listen to your phrases.
With love and hope,
I’m on the cusp of
determining how I really feel
these tears close to the sting
of one thing and I’m wondering
will I examine their origin
or coat this coronary heart with platitudes,
an untrustworthy balm that by no means
does the job of constructing anybody
really feel higher even right here within the nook
of the bagel store the place regardless of
AirPods pressed to my ears
I can’t assist
the youngsters come to
order sandwiches for lunch and
my feelings, a fragile palette of
angst and peace spitfire concepts–
you might be tremendous, no, you might be apprehensive,
no, scared, no, simply melancholy and
that’s okay, you understand, you understand
you might be okay and
the tears fall on the pages then
this kindness of listening
to loneliness implore
This publish appeared initially at jennifer.camp