I haven’t written anything soul-bearing in roughly six months. To be accurate, I probably haven’t written much of anything at all. I’ve taken countless notes in church and small groups, I’ve filled out endless pages of social service paperwork for my job, I’ve written case-note after case-note stating only fact and giving a completely unbiased account of my interaction with my families.
I see a lot in the world, I read a lot online, and I think a whole heck of a lot of things these days. Not that I necessarily thought less before, but when I’m not writing it seems to pile up in my head and I carry it around with me everywhere I go.
I think about writing here a lot, and if you had the ability to log into my WordPress home screen you would see the beginnings of lots of thoughts. Thoughts sitting idle in a queue waiting to be completed. Waiting to be revisited and revised.
I think about the reasons why I haven’t been able to write. Why I’ve chosen not to write. Busyness. Life changes. Priorities. Relationships. Moving. Fear. Feeling conflicted. Stuck.
I haven’t made much time in day-to-day to create. I miss being a creative person. Not that I’m not but that I don’t get to exercise that muscle in the same sense that I used to. Writing has been one of the last creative outlets I’ve held onto since childhood.
I don’t write lately because I don’t know what I think about things. Or maybe I really do know what I think about things and I’m just too scared to share my voice in a sea of judgement and disagreement.
Sometimes coming here and writing is enough. I don’t hit ‘publish’ and I get things out of my system. I think some of my censoring of posts has been helpful. Not that things I’ve written have been bad, but sometimes I wonder if what I’m writing is necessary to share? I’m thankful for growth in this area of my life.
I think posting this today is necessary whether or not I have anything profound to say because I don’t want to let my love for writing die. I want to revive creativity in my life instead of watching everything fall to rest.
It’s a Tuesday and I have found a new love for Tuesdays. I’m looking forward to them (along now with Sundays AND Mondays). The trash and recycling go out in the morning and my Green Bean Delivery shows up on my porch in the late afternoon. I change into pajama pants and wrap myself in the softest Ms. Shirley blanket on my couch. I reach for a book that’s easy, tender, and doesn’t hurt my mind and heart. I fold back the cover because I’m very engaged (read: rough) with my books and hold a pen in my hand. Not because I’m going to take note of anything in this particular book but because it helps me read better to know I’m prepared if I need to. I tell myself it’s time to rest. You’ve earned it. You’ve worked hard the past few days at taking care of responsibilities and this is necessary. I’m sure this is something normal people do but I have to talk myself into it. Today I agree with myself and am able to read and rest.
I sit in silence in the living room with my roommate and it’s the most wonderful, heavy silence to be shared with someone. Resting in the afternoon. Eventually we both fall asleep because that’s just what we do at this stage in our lives. We love it and we hate it.
I hear her shut the door quietly on her way to work and I lay on the couch soaking in my afternoon-now-evening. I open my eyes to the small city of candles we have lit that are now reflecting off the ceiling. Everything is dark and as my eyes adjust to the darkness, the romance of the candlelight warming the living room overwhelms me. God is romancing me with this new house and this new chapter in my life. The windows are open and my street is quiet. I hear crickets and other things that this city girl has no idea what’s making that sound. It reminds me of the one thing I knew I would miss about our old apartment. Thank you, God, for this sound so far away from the river. The breeze gently flows in through the screens and I think there aren’t many things that are near perfect, but the temperature outside compared with the warmth within are pretty close.
There’s a sweet, sweet dog curled up on the couch next to me and a Panger Bon at my feet. Always on either side of me– they’re a good team, whether they’ve organized this or not. I want to be annoyed at them for putting their smell and their wonderful, ever-detaching fur on the couches, but they are so good to have around I decide I don’t really care.
I walk into my kitchen and do nothing but fiddle around because I simply love being in my kitchen. I think about how thankful I am for people who helped clean up all the food and dishes last night when I had to leave before our fellowship time was over. I flash-back to coming home last night to a spotless downstairs and experience the joy all over again. There’s that near-perfect breeze meeting me through the kitchen window again.
I open Facebook and I instantly regret it. So many opinions right now. So many things that people say. Stances they take ownership of that wound their neighbors. Things that stab instead of bridge. I try to think of what my stance is and this is where I get stuck with my writing. We are called to love one another. We are called to speak the Truth in love. I don’t believe the world would get anywhere if we all just “loved” and never called each other out on our crap. Because that is not something that Love does. But I just don’t see how either side is building bridges with their words and actions. So I sit quietly because, to me, it is not worth it in any amount to say something that injures my brother or sister or fellow human being just so that I can put myself and my opinions first, if I can help it.
I think about all the other things that we could spend our time and energy talking about and fighting for and my heart breaks for things that I feel Jesus is holding so dear to His heart right now. The orphans and the widows and the broken and the lost and He’s holding them all in His arms and whispers for those who will quiet themselves long enough to listen, but what about these? What about THESE!
These are the moments that I am so heavily reminded that I am not of this world. Some might chalk it up to me being a dreamer or being idealistic. Sometimes I feel as if maybe I am these things as well. But then I remember that Jesus did things differently and Jesus cared about things that no one else around Him seemed to care about and I think maybe I’m actually right where I need to be.