Eating My Words

The experience of writing blog posts on the weekend and scheduling them to appear through the week is turning out to be an illuminating one.

Mostly because I have this tendency to forget what I've scheduled for the day, and, when I go back and check, I'm tending to find myself rather deeply convicted by own words.  That, or needing to just eat them because the conviction is huge.

Today is one of those days.

When I wrote earlier in the week about wrestling with pigs (and scheduled the post to go live this morning), it was a revelation for my heart.  Turns out it was one that's going to take a bit more work.

I spent most of the day wrestling with my own internal pigs.  And getting dirty.

I don't recommend it.

I'm probably still doing it.  And I'm working on that.

Anger and fear and exhaustion among other things easy pigs to engage.

I'm struck over and over again by choices.

By the reality that I get to choose.

And I struggle with that reality of choice.

Choosing to forgive.  Choosing to love.  Choosing to be joyful.

Because I can make those choices, but they seem intangible.  And sometimes I make the choice and it doesn't seem to matter.  Or I make the choice and have to make it again 2 minutes later, and again a minute after that.

And that reality makes me crazy.  Because deep down, even though I'm totally an "embrace the mystery" kind of gal, I really just like some things to black and white.  And these kind of choices and their affects are so grey it makes me crazy.

I don't love, either, the way that making a choice drops the responsibility in my lap. 

Because I know better than anyone how little I should really be responsible for.   How much I'd rather shirk responsibility.

This whole discussion brings to mind a favorite line from Gray's Anatomy.  "I'm an adult, when did that happen, and how do I make it stop?"

And while I pause to laugh at a line from a show that has spoken to deep parts of me over and over, I hear the echo of scripture, too, "...put aside childish things..."

And I wonder how to adapt to this new place of life.  To making choices instead of having someone make them for me.  And I find myself again clinging with that white-knuckled trust that seems to be defining the last few weeks to the reality that God is somehow in this, too.  And that He will be faithful to hold me.