I walked outside, barefoot. This morning, the grass wet and cooler than just a few days ago, it caught me by surprise.
I lightened my steps, tippy-toeing, the dogs wondering, “what’s the problem?”.
Summer slumber moving me towards the letting go and the crisp of cool Fall.
I looked towards the sky, turned to go back inside and looked quickly, again back towards the tall pines.
And I took it to heart, I thought…Yes, there’s still chance for new and good.
I angrily covered over a canvas last night, erased the amateur tones that couldn’t be made right.
Then, decided to write, to add some thoughts to words already started.
But, force and anxious effort took over.
Like the Psalmist I wondered,
Could it be God has forgotten to be gracious to me?
Empty feeling, I left the words there, just draft.
Devoid of creative and exhausted from the effort.
I prayed later on. I cried, just a little. Surprisingly to some, I’m not at all the weepy one. But, warm tears, just enough to blur my sight made sense.
Then, I just decided to let it be, let it rest.
So, as morning is purposed for, the morning sky gave a chance to understand…again.
It’s crazy how little tolerance we have for things not going like we think they should.
We can hit one roadblock or not get something just right and we concoct a whole dialogue about our lack of worth and our lack of being good enough for good things to happen.
I just wrote my monthly Faith column for the Wagener Monthly. This month, about a blind man who thought he was blind because he was bad, his parents did too.
Never convinced him differently, even after he could see.
He met Jesus. He could see, he was healed. He believed. They still didn’t.
I falter in the two things I feel God has given me to do and I, like the blind man’s parents, start thinking…I was wrong, not me, not good enough, made too many mistakes to measure up to this gift.
That kind of thinking grows and grows until you become so miserable that you have to decide to be blunt and question yourself…where is this from…what’s this really about?
Asking yourself the things no one else would dare ask.
Like, why did you find it necessary to post every single angel you painted? What were you seeking? What void were you attempting to fill?
Then, you remember.
Oh, this thing I used to consider joy, that used to fill me up and spill over, I’ve made it something else. I’ve made it a place that’s open to fault finding, to self-ridicule and worst of all, to comparison.
So, you get quiet and you get back to you.
You rest, let it rest. You sense the slow change, feel it, move through it at a sweet pace of your own.
You rest. You notice again.
I walked this evening. The cooler air separating the clouds, an intentional separating, breaking down and apart…sifted to smoothness and patterned for best.
I turn towards home, stopping with the Labrador in the grassy spot that feels like country and linger with him in the weeds.
No need for rushing.
We both look towards the place where the sky is wide. He saunters, the high grass brushing his belly and I unleash him because we’re almost home anyway, it’s safe.
I look towards the sky, then we’re done with the day.
And I’ve not pushed, I’ve prayed some more. I’ll paint tomorrow, write again too.
I’ll welcome the unfolding of morning, the nod of evening skies knowing God has been so, so gracious.
Linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee