The blanket’s all stretchy from my toes and it’s folded tightly underneath my feet resting on pretty footstool.

Pillows moved to the end of sofa, my Bible, my books, my pencil and my pad, these are my morning things.

My eyes move towards the mantel and rest there, reminding of the sea, the abstract I got right, one I decided I’d keep.

I long to stay here, paint later, then write, I long to be a home woman.

I am in my sweet spot. I’m exhausted from other places, I want to stay, to paint, to write.

I told my husband, told my daughter. They’ve heard it before.

I’m tired of other things, things I don’t enjoy; but, have to do, I call it “peopling”.

I long to be selective with where my energy goes. I long to stay in my sweet spot, to do work that feels like treasure not toil.

Retired last night thinking this and woke with the same.

Then, remembered, it’s not me who gets to choose timing. I’m not the keeper of doors closing or opening wider. I just do what I can where I am and let God do the rest.

Right?

Yes, If I’m honest it’s not that I’m weary, it’s more that I’m waiting, excitedly and expectantly.

Like up to bat and on a hitting streak, I can’t wait to get back in my batters box, my painting desk, my writing desk, my sweet spots.

Closer to the wholeness that God will use, tired of the halfheartedness of before.

Maybe not so tired of what I have to do; just more sure of the sweetness of my sweet spot and the seeking His will there.

Going out into the work world and returning here every day.

“Therefore thus says the Lord: “If you return, I will restore you, and you shall stand before me. If you utter what is precious, and not what is worthless, you shall be as my mouth.”

‭‭Jeremiah‬ ‭15:19‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Rambling and all over the place today, still linking up with FMF on the prompt of tired.