Monday

It's mid-morning Monday (such lovely alliteration there) and it has been days since I've paused in this space to record anything but a nightly Daily 5 list.

For the first time in what seems a very long time, years really, I find myself realizing that I don't need to weigh what I say in this space for fear of some in my "real life" who may be reading.  And yet, I almost feel as if I've lost the ability to share myself here.  As if it has descended into a sort of murky silence.

I'm waiting out some health stuff right now.  Waiting for my body to adapt to new changes in supplements and medications.  Waiting to see if initial side-effects will diminish.  Waiting for restful sleep of some sort (since sleep has never been one of my great skills) to return.

I'm thinking about changes.

About needing to find work for the summer.  And how my tired body and soul would instead prefer to hop on a plane to almost anywhere, preferably somewhere near a very large body water, somewhere with sunshine and warmth, and spend a summer resting and reorienting to all of the changes that have come in the last years.

I think of an option in the back of my mind - an option for travel to a new continent that vaguely exists - and I'm tempted to jump at it.  And yet, I know that it would not actually be an option that would fit me well.  That would fit my heart and life.  But as an option, as an escape, it is tantalizing at times, and I dream again of travel and new places.  Of people and prayer and time away for reorienting and reconstructing. 

But it would need to be time away that would not leave me drained, the way so many of the trips, long and short, that I've made over the last few years have done.  Time away that would restore, and contribute to healing.  And that limits my options more significantly.  In the meantime, if the weather brightens this week, watching these words flow across the screen convinces me that time at the zoo and perhaps in a park are going to be necessary.

This is again a season of in-between.  It's the place I've been existing for much of the last year.  The season of waiting and wondering.  I need to find work, but I don't know for how long I need to be employed.  I'm waiting to hear if I will be accepted into the nursing program for September.  If I'm honest, I'm growing tired of waiting.  I'm ready for settled.  I'm growing tired of juggling a longing for things, with a desire to protect my heart from the hurt that comes from wanting deeply and having those desires fail to be fulfilled.

And so I wait.  And this week that will look like time spent applying for jobs, and time spent reading.  I hope it will look like time spent sitting in the sun, at the zoo or in a park.  Perhaps time spent writing.  Most definitely time spent thinking and praying.  There will probably be a bit of cleaning and cooking or baking thrown in, and a few yoga classes.  And yes, likely some daydreaming about airplanes and big bodies of water.  (Watching the finale of The Amazing Race last night would have been comical if you were inside my head.  Mixed into all the dialogue around the room about the various competitors was a nearly obsessive noticing of palm trees in the location in which they wrapped up the season.  Even in a wild wind storm, those palm trees look enticing.  Oh, and if you'd been in my head you would have also been privy to an astonishing number of thoughts about the woman who was providing the final clue, and the stunning ability of her hairdo to remain immobile despite the windstorm!)

And with that, I'd better stop writing and kick off my week of activities of waiting!  See you tonight for the daily 5.

Reverb 10: Day 13 - Action (What's Next?)

Today's Reverb 10 prompt:

December 13 – Action

When it comes to aspirations, it’s not about ideas. It’s about making ideas happen. What’s your next step?

(Author: Scott Belsky)


What's next? If that isn't a loaded question in my life these days, I don't know what is.

The answer is, I mostly still don't know.

I know that I will be a nursing student at some point in the future. What I don't know is if that will be in 4 weeks, or more like 9 months. (Wait lists are a somewhat nerve racking thing, and in this case we're praying for a miracle spot in the program to open up sometime before January 6th or so.)

I know with some degree of certainty that whether or not I'm accepted into the nursing program, I will be enrolled in classes at the local university come January. I know that I will either be in the nursing program, or that I will be taking 2-3 as yet undetermined classes to pull up my GPA and make the next application to the nursing program a smoother process.

I know that my living situation needs to change, but I also know that my living situation is contingent upon my job and income situation, which is contingent upon finding out what exactly my school situation will be come January!

Clear as mud, right?

The short answer to "what's next?" is "I don't really know."

And so I continue to wait and watch and pray. Some days more patiently than others!

How You Doin'?

I watched a re-run of Friends yesterday, an old episode where Joey is coaching Rachel on how to ask a member of the opposite sex for a date.  His advice was something along the lines of "I just look a girl up and down and go 'How you doin'?'"

I laughed at it yesterday and thought of it today when a friend sent an email asking how I was.

I replied honestly that it has been a "mostly okay" day.

A few minutes after I replied I got a phone call that heightened an uncertainty, a "don't borrow trouble" moment that I'd been working hard to set aside.

And it reminded that this is my reality too.

That right now, even the good, or "mostly okay" days, have the potential to become unbalanced in moments.

I preface any conversation that has even the potential to be emotional (positively or not so much) these days with "Everything makes me cry right now, just ignore the tears."

I've discovered that when that downward swing hits, sometimes it lasts and sometimes I can corral it back into submission.

I've learned that exercising just as that swing hits can sometimes lead to successful corralling of it.  It just means I have to push through the onslaught of the downward swinging mood, and the fact that I hate to exercise.  Even yoga.  I rarely regret the exercise once I've done it, but I wouldn't ever say I enjoyed it (unless we're talking about say, a day walking all over a zoo, or a theme park, or the city with friends).

And I'm learning to trust that this weird emotional place I'm existing in won't last forever.  That as I heal and piece my life together again, it will pass.  And in the meantime, don't mind me - everything makes me cry these days!

Slow Days

Life seems to move at a pace that is slow right now.

The waiting and limbo thing becomes intolerable at moments, and I am working to come up with ways to fill my days.

Today I'm waiting for a ride, so I'm puttering around my space in Grandma's basement.

I feel like words are coming slowly, too, as I wrestle my way through big issues.

Stuff that isn't formed for sharing, but more for pondering.

I make daily 5 lists throughout the day in my iphone, and add them to the blog at night.

I read blogs, and emails.  I write, though often not for public consumption.

And I move slowly, slowly, slowly forward.

Committed to that forward movement.

Maybe the slow days are okay right now, even when they're the brutally hard ones. 

Maybe I can live, and even thrive in this place.

Most days I'm not all that sure.  But today, on this particular slow day, I think it might be possible.

Limbo

If I could take back the last hour and a half, I would.

Sometimes this living my entire life in limbo business catches up to me, and exhaustion piles up, and I stay stuff I regret.

out loud.  to people I love.

this was one of those nights, the sort of ridiculous capper on a day that actually wasn't too bad.

honestly, after moments like this I contemplate life as a hermit, and battle against feeling convinced that I don't fit in any sort of polite company.

and I speak out of this place of limbo.

and out of a place where the longer the limbo lasts, the more invisible and discouraged I feel at times.

and I battle some long held thought patterns.  lies mostly.

thankfully with a bit more help than I used to have. 

tonight I am reminding myself that I'm not a total disaster all of the time.

that for most of today I was not an emotional basket case (or that I at least didn't share my basket-case like feelings with the world at large.)

that not every day will be like this.

that I am taking steps in my life to make this better.

but today, right this minute, with tears running down my face, after having another tired, emotional and angry conversation with someone I love, I feel just a bit helpless and hopeless and alone.

and living in limbo feels like hell.

Odd Sort of Day

I'm sitting at my parent's house, thinking I should probably eat some supper, and then head out the door.  It's Thursday and that means it's house church night.  It also means I need to make sure I leave mom and dad's by 6:00 for the train station, to take a train one stop north.  If I don't leave here by 6:00, I might miss my bus connection at the next station north.  Since the bus only runs a few times an hour, missing it would rather complicate my evening plans.

House church is being led tonight by "that person".  The one that every group seems to have.  The one that no one is quite sure what to do with.  It should be an interesting experience and likely provide either humorous venting, or just straight-up giggles on the ride home later tonight.

My day started well, with a phone call from my former roommate and very dear friend, L.  We talked for close to two hours, catching up on three weeks or so of life, and a myriad of details.  It was the kind of conversation I'm learning to look for and love.  One that covers all the really important stuff of each of our lives, but still leaves room for lots of giggles, chatting, and just generally joyful and interested conversation.  We cover the important things, but without the intensity that can sometimes be so painfully present.  Or maybe just without the side effects of that intensity.  Whatever it is, I'm trying to have more of those kinds of important conversations, and less of the ones that leave me exhausted, teary, and unable to think straight.  It seems healthier some how, to find ways to talk about the important things without them taking over the entirety of my being.  Without getting sick and being unable to eat.  With laughter interspersed with tears.

And then, eventually, reality hit.  It always does.  The "I don't quite know what to do, but should probably look for work, but don't know what kind of work to look for, because I don't know if I'm going to school in January, and don't know for sure when I'll know if I'm going to school in January" reality that is currently the defining factor in my days.  One of my goals for today was to send out some resumes - to at least make an effort at productivity and finding a source of income.  The only question was what sort of work to apply for given the current reality.  I applied for a number of part-time gigs that I'm at least interested in, if not excessively passionate about.  And I applied for one, a contract position, that would fit some assumed needs just perfectly (except that it would likely preclude an escape I'd hoped to make.)  This one is one I could excel at, and feel passionate about.

I have the middle of the day doldrums a lot these days.  That sense of wandering, lack of purpose that I don't quite know what to do with.  The sense of stagnancy and sometimes worry that comes with waiting on many, many fronts.   The doldrums come and they hang out, and they make me panic as I feel my mood swing.  And so I push them away, filling time and space.  And waiting, always waiting.

It's been an odd sort of day.  One with extremes, and things that were completely lacking in extremes.  One where the doldrums hit hard and I worried at things in my head the way a small dog "worries" a toy until it comes free.  Not my most stellar of days, though one with lots of little things checked off of lists, and a number of things to add to a daily 5 list at the end of the day.

Tomorrow is a chance to do this again.  To be busy, and productive.  To work on diet and supplements and all the little physical things that also help with the doldrums.  To fill my time.  To talk with Jesus.  To wait patiently, without the worrying.  I'll try again tomorrow, and celebrate the little victories of today.

The In-Between Day

Holy Saturday.

The inbetween day. 

Jesus still laying in the tomb.

The disciples cloistered in a room, terrified.

~~~

I think about that day a lot.

That in-between day.

Waking to the reality that the Master was dead.

Without the hope we have on this side of 2000 years.

Just nothingness.

Waiting and wondering if they will be next.

They hadn't exactly been circumspect about their following, after all.

The women perhaps preparing, quietly.  Readying for the early morning trip to the tomb.

Readying to anoint the body.

~~~

This day feels like that to me.

Quiet preparations for the celebrations that come tomorrow.


And waiting.


For what, I'm not precisely sure.


For resurrection, I guess.


New life.


Healing and hope.


Rest and peace.


And so I wait.

Morning

As I sat down at my desk in my office this morning, I smiled at the half moon hanging in the western sky, stubbornly holding on as the first colors of sunrise began to light the eastern sky.

I'm feeling oddly reflective again this morning.  Not so unusual for me, I suppose, though it hasn't been the case in a few weeks.  At least not like this.  Slightly melancholy, and like I'm being pulled deep within myself, a shift in focus and attention perhaps.

So I'm quietly listening and waiting.  Thinking, pondering and praying.

New seasons indeed.

Thoughts on Waiting

Two different blogs that I follow had posts on the theme of waiting today.

Both are worth a read.

You can find them at Lois's blog here.

And at Ian's blog here.

Fourth Advent: Love

Four Advent Candles have now been lit in the wreath that sits on my dresser. Only the Christ candle remains unlit, waiting for the coming of Immanuel.

The fourth candle is love.

Over the last four Sundays I've lit candles for hope, peace, joy, and now tonight, love.

The timing as usual is profound.

I've spent much of the day pondering again how much love requires. The giving up of rights. The surrendering. I didn't know that tonight's candle was love, that I would come home, and finish up the baking for the day, and light a candle symbolizing love. I just spent my day thinking about some of those things, because they were what was on my mind.

Funny how God does that.

So four candles burn on my dresser wreath, and I am waiting.

I am waiting for Christ, the true embodiment of love to come. For in his love are the hope and peace and joy that I've already lit candles, waiting in expectation for each of their fulfillment as well.

I am waiting, come, Lord Jesus, come.

Waiting and Praying

I love the simple advent prayer, "I am waiting, Come Lord Jesus," that has been appearing at The Ragamuffin Diva through this advent season.

I received some very sad news this morning, and a heart that was already praying is now truly and deeply drawn to prayer.

Today I am waiting and praying.

Praying:

• for some who are grieving
• for those sorting out next steps
• for hurting friends and family
• for new relationships forming
• while waiting and inviting Jesus to come
• with longing
• and with hope
• knowing peace
• and longing for peace to grow within me
• for things that can't be expressed in words
• with gratefulness for friends, scattered around the world though they may be
• while pondering things to come and wondering about thing still uncertain
• with gratefulness for family, in all of it's odd forms
• remembering the feast celebrated today "The Immaculate Conception" and Gabriel's words to Mary, "you who are highly favored" and Mary's response "may it be as you have said."
• for new life more abundant in so many forms
• because my heart cannot help but cry out.

A Bit More on Waiting

Another thought on waiting arrived from Henri Nouwen in my inbox this morning...

Waiting with Patience

How do we wait for God? We wait with patience. But patience does not mean passivity. Waiting patiently is not like waiting for the bus to come, the rain to stop, or the sun to rise. It is an active waiting in which we live the present moment to the full in order to find there the signs of the One we are waiting for.

The word patience comes from the Latin verb patior which means "to suffer." Waiting patiently is suffering through the present moment, tasting it to the full, and letting the seeds that are sown in the ground on which we stand grow into strong plants. Waiting patiently always means paying attention to what is happening right before our eyes and seeing there the first rays of God's glorious coming.

Henri on Waiting

I found this in my inbox from Henri Nouwen AFTER I wrote this morning's post. Funny how that works...

Active Waiting

Waiting is essential to the spiritual life. But waiting as a disciple of Jesus is not an empty waiting. It is a waiting with a promise in our hearts that makes already present what we are waiting for. We wait during Advent for the birth of Jesus. We wait after Easter for the coming of the Spirit, and after the ascension of Jesus we wait for his coming again in glory. We are always waiting, but it is a waiting in the conviction that we have already seen God's footsteps.

Waiting for God is an active, alert - yes, joyful - waiting. As we wait we remember him for whom we are waiting, and as we remember him we create a community ready to welcome him when he comes.

Maybe, in the future

I don't know exactly what to write.

I feel like this has been a deeply internal week, and I'm just not sure how to share it.

I'll be incredibly glad when tomorrow afternoon comes, and at least the work portion of the week is at an end.

It's been three nights in a row of intense dreams now. Some remembered, some not so much. Nights of (more than usual) interrupted sleep.

I had a meeting this morning that will necessitate another meeting. One that's likely to be a bit challenging. I guess I'll deal with that when it comes.

Susan posted some really beautiful thoughts here. Her story reminded me of this post I wrote in April. Of memories that, months later, are still fresh, and for which I'm still very grateful.

I'm going to check out a church option tonight. A small house gathering. While I'm not by any means as panicky as I sometimes feel about things like that (I'm quite peaceful about it, really), I have to admit that after a week like I've had, the last thing I really want to do tonight is to take my introverted self to a new place and spend the evening with a group of strangers. But I'm going to do it. Because I've missed the community I once had, and it's slowly becoming clear that the changes to that which I once had are more permanent than I had hoped.

"Don't neglect gathering together" the author of Hebrews wrote. It's a hard verse. Because while Jesus is appealing, sometimes his people are so very unappealing. Sometime I am so very unappealing. And yet... my heart, as much as it hesitates, and reminds me of past hurts, past church disasters, remains hungry for that fellowship, that community with others who love Jesus.

I feel like it's a bit of a waiting game this week.

Caught between memories, present reality and dreams for the future.

And Ingrid Michaelson's "Maybe" has become the underlying voice to my week. The answer to everything seems to be "...maybe, in the future..."

So, I'm waiting to see what the future will bring. What tonight, and tomorrow, and the weekend, and weeks, and months and years from now will hold.

...maybe, in the future...

Prayers (Starting with Chocolate)

I started the day with chocolate. That's pretty unusual for me these days, and a fairly solid reflection of how I'm doing emotionally. Chocolate before breakfast probably means I'm struggling a bit.

I'm trying to follow the advice from today's quote on the calendar from my friend that sits on my desk: "We shall not be purified by looking at our miseries, but by gazing on him who is all purity and holiness." (Blessed Elizabeth of the Trinity)

I'm struck by the fact that today is the feast day for Saint Thomas the Apostle. I feel a particular affinity for Thomas. When I saw that today was his feast day, I was transported back to a moment in Rome last year. I spent quite a bit of time trying to take a photo of a painting of Thomas with his hand in the wound in Jesus' side. A painting that deeply struck me. If I remember correctly, it was hanging in the Pantheon. I still don't have a good picture of it. All of the photos I have of that painting are blurry, because my hands were trembling too much to hold the camera still enough to take a clear photo. But something about that moment, that painting remains deep within me, and, when I read that today was Thomas' feast day, I was carried back to those few minutes, standing in front of the painting, and I felt again the impact that it had deep within me.

I found myself praying as I drove to work this morning. Praying along with bits and pieces of lyrics from two totally different songs. Lines from a Taylor Swift song, "I was a dreamer before you went and let me down... This ain't a fairy tale... it's too late for you and your white horse to catch me now..." And lines from a U2 song that was playing through my head as I woke, "Nothing to win and nothing left to lose... And you give, and you give, and you give yourself away... and I'm waiting for you... with or without you..." And so I let the lyrics give expression to parts of my heart that were hurting, and I worked to speak blessing over people and things I care about, even though in many ways, my heart is not ready to speak blessing yet - it would rather speak curses.

There are things in my life that were established by God, but the pull from them, as I wait and watch them develop, can at times become so strong that they become my focus. They become a distraction. I start obsessing and worrying, and stop talking with Jesus. I'm tired in the midst of all of that right now, and I'm trying to talk to Jesus, with whatever words my heart can form, even if they're slighty bitter lyrics from a country love song, or lyrics from an Irish rock band that spoke to my heart from the first moment I heard one of their songs (a moment I could still describe for you quite vividly).

And so I wait, and I'm seeking Jesus, and seeking to choose life, to somehow find joy in the midst of this day. (And I started my day with chocolate... a miniature kit kat bar, carrying so many memories of the time I spent in Europe, and a prayer in its own rite today.)

Waiting

It's funny how it goes.

I feel like the Lord has me in a season of waiting. Not a passive thing, where I just sit there, and he's silent. More of an active thing, where he's definitely speaking in various ways, where my emotions are churning and processing is happening in a wild sort of way.

I had a dream last week about shoes. Shoes often speak about transition for me - they've been a symbol of that for much of the last few years. And ever since the dream, I haven't been able to get the following lyric from a gospel song by High Valley out of my head "You don't wear your old shoes on your brand new feet..."

So I'm waiting. Because I think changes are coming again. In more than just the typical transitions that have marked June/July for the last few years. More than just moving, and a game of musical roommates. I'm hoping and praying that a new season is truly coming.

For the first time in a while, as I drove to work this morning, I found myself praying aloud. Making my "requests and petitions known to God." Prayers for myself, and for some I love. Prayers for the changes I feel happening within me. Prayers for blessing - even for those I struggle with (at one point I found myself telling God that I knew what I was asking was a bit of a selfish prayer, but would he translate the words because I genuinely desired to pray blessing from a heart that is right before him.)

As I climbed out of my car at the office, I "heard" again the scripture that goes, "See, I am doing a new thing, do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the desert, and streams in the wasteland."

And my heart lept, just a little, in that cautious way it does after a long and bleak season, when it seems that hope may be presenting itself again. "Yes, Lord, I'm longing for that new season, for a way in the desert and streams where there is only barrenness."

I'm thinking too, about the line from Hosea, where the Lord speaks and says, "I will make the valley of trouble a door of hope."

I'm waiting and looking for doors and new things. And praying the same for many that my heart holds dear.

He Waited With Me for a Long Time

I spent some time on the floor tonight. Lying there in the dark, in a room lit only with a few candles, and waiting, hoping, praying, to meet with Jesus and let the things inside me be stilled, even just for a few minutes.

As I lay there, a line from one of the most powerful books I've ever read came to mind. It's a line from one of my favorite stories in the book, a story I've read and felt touch my heart so many times that as I was laying on the floor, waiting for hope and quiet and peace to come, the refrain of the last line not only played, but I heard the whole story, playing softly. I've spoken often, here, about the ways that Renee Altson's "Stumbling Toward Faith" has touched my heart deeply in just the right moments, (and let me just say that if you haven't read this book, you absolutely must rush out and get it. it's not an easy read, but is quite easily one of the most beautifully profound things I've ever read.) Tonight was one of those nights that it touched me deeply. It was the following story, and particularly the closing line that spoke to my heart:

As part of our connection with God, we read the following passage over and over:

“Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them. Does he not leave the 99 in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it? And when he finds it, he joyfully puts it on his shoulders and goes home. Then he calls his friends and neighbors together and says, ‘rejoice with me; I have found my lost sheep.’ I tell you that in the same way there will be more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents than over 99 righteous persons who do not need to repent.”

At one point the facilitator asked us to think and journal about what we felt, about what would happen, if we were the sheep waiting for the shepherd, and we saw him coming: what would he say? Where were we? How would we react?

I sat in that church, sprawled on the floor, leaning against a sturdy pillar with my eyes closed, trying to imagine that moment, trying to be that sheep.

My mind showed me a dusty, dark place. I was alone, it was quiet. There was only the occasional moaning of the wind. There were no birds, there was no shade.

I heard the shepherd coming a long way off. He was whistling.

“Hey,” he said to me. “I have missed you. I am so glad I found you.”

He extended a hand to wipe my tear-stained, dusty cheeks.

“Come back with me,” he said. “Come back to the others.”

I shook my head and pulled away.

“No,” I said.

“He looked surprised, but it did not change the immense compassion on his face.

“No,” I said again. “I can’t go back. I don’t want to. I don’t trust the other 99. I don’t want to be hurt again. Please don’t make me be hurt again.”

The shepherd sat down on the ground next to me.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “I’ll just say here with you then…”

The shepherd waited with me for a long time.

(Stumbling Toward Faith, Renee Altson, pg. 142-45)

I needed to hear tonight that he would wait with me until my heart is restored and able again to return to the land of the living. And, as I sat there in the semi-dark of my candle-lit bedroom, curled up on the floor, I too felt him settle down beside me, let me lean into him, and simply wait.

Spring???

A few weeks ago, I wrote that I was feeling like my heart was caught in the sort of "Narnian" situation that Lucy first encountered when she stumbled through the wardrobe. "Always winter, but never Christmas." Lots of cold and ice and never the anticipation of celebration and spring and new life.

The first day of spring came and went on Friday, and for a rare change, the weather here seemed to cooperate. It offered out a teasing hope that perhaps, even in my cold and tired heart, spring might come.

Turns out the weather is a bit of a tease. Most of the snow was melted yesterday, and there was dry brown grass, waiting for sunshine to perk it up and turn it into the green of spring.

This is the view that greeted me when I looked out the front door this morning:


That, my friends, is about a foot of snow, which fell sometime between midnight or so last night and 8:30 this morning when I looked outside. Or at least 8 inches anyway. And it's still falling. It was over the top of my boots. It took me half an hour to brush George off, and I'd only driven about 10 minutes when I hit an icy patch, slid into a guard rail, mashed up the front driver's side of my bumper (though thankfully without damaging anything essential) and decided to turn around and come home.

So. Always winter...

And I am praying and waiting again for spring. I am clinging to the fact that even in the deep, still falling snow the sparrows and chickadees were singing, trying to announce a change of season to the heavens. I'm finding the tiniest bit of hope in that.

And now, I'm off to lay in a bath. I haven't quite recovered from the new onslaught of winter. And I haven't quite recovered from the onslaught of adrenaline from another car accident of sorts this morning. I'm cold, and feeling shaky again. So, I'm going to try and treat myself a bit gently, and just relax for a while.

More thoughts to come... there are blog posts brewing...

Listening and Waiting

This has been an oddly off-kilter sort of day.

The kind of day where things poke at the edges of your conciousness but never quite become clear.

The kind of day where your body aches, and you're just not sure why.

Where things seen and things heard just don't seem to fit together.

Where I wake from dreams, and move, unsettled, into the day.

Where I listen and wait and pray.

For myself.

And for those I love.

Struggling, waiting, praying

This has been an oddly full week. And not necessarily full in the best sense of that word.

I'm in the midst of saying some goodbyes. Literal and otherwise.

I'm tired.

My facebook status for the last few days has generally read something like "Lisa is waiting, praying and remembering to breathe."

It's all I can manage right now. Just waiting. And talking with Jesus. Sometimes in a very angry tone. Sometimes in quiet desperation. Sometimes just waiting and hoping he'll simply hold me. And remembering to breathe. That's it's okay to go slowly. To cut myself some slack. To stick to those thoughts I shared a week or so ago about self-care.

So it might be quieter around here for a few days again. I'm processing away from this public space. With good friends. Alone. and with Jesus.