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My journals are empty

I am sitting in a ho-hum space right now. Maybe it’s the summer doldrums. I am dragging myself out of bed, putting myself to bed early, and for the time in-between I feel like I’m floating. Floating through the rhythms of my days and interactions with people. Making the lists and checking the boxes, and repeating the cycle all over again. I am pretty sure I experience this each year, but this year I am waiting on something, and so this holding pattern feels cruel like I’m in a forgotten wasteland. There really is nothing for me to DO here, and so I ponder. I have felt like I have been cast to the back desert country to obscurely and quietly tend sheep. I have felt like tired and worn out, and certain I am alone. And hardest of all, I feel the sting of rejection and the confusion of misunderstanding. Helpless, weak and dependent is how I would describe myself.

There isn’t despair. But there isn’t passion. There is a type of apathy, where I find myself shrugging my shoulders and asking myself if it really matters how I feel. And in the deepest part of my spirit, I know it matters, but I still can’t muster the energy to DO anything. And honestly, precious reader, I think this is the point. There is nothing to do. I am simply at a place of darkness preceding dawn. Or maybe it’s deep winter in my soul, and I’m waiting for the hints of spring. But again, as with these natural occurrences, there is nothing to DO. I simply recognize, and realize and then ponder some more.

Come…

The winds and the waves had to obey His voice, and I obey Him as well. “Come unto Me all you who are weary,” He beckons, and so I slog my way to Him, and slip into His yoke, right beside Him and I let Him teach me and carry me on the journey. There is no condemnation here. He is not looking for a producer. He is not looking for works. He is looking for me. For you.

I am as much accepted in Him as I will ever be. I heard a pastor say this week, “Walking in the Spirit is a believer’s default setting. You have to step into the flesh; you have to step into sin.” Then he read from Colossians, and I heard my Father say, “You have been reconciled with Me, and presented to Me holy, blameless and free from accusation.” This is truth.

I imagine that I am like a bruised reed or a smoking wick, just barely enough strength, heat or light to be considered such, but also at risk of being broken, snuffed out or extinguished altogether. I’m not afraid of being cast out of my Savior, and yet there isn’t enough energy present to muster up a memorable or useful presence, a good flame or fire for others to warm themselves by. I am not useful to many right now. This spiritual lull used to concern me. I used to fret and scurry about and add more things to DO to my list. I would scrounge around in my heart and mind looking for the sin, or the root cause in my defective self that had caused this pause. I would ask others to pray for me, and expect their sympathy. Yet, today, I’m most aware of His grace. His Peace is the person of Jesus, and Jesus dwells in me by faith, and I dwell in Him by grace, and even then, just the delineation of it…what if it’s by grace that He dwells in me, and by faith that I dwell in Him…even that thought tumbling off my fingers and onto the keys seems like work. My Father is huge and mighty and faithful, and I am not forgotten. He is also tender, gentle and infinitely kind, and He won’t even let a hair fall from my head without His full attention and care. I trust in my current weakened state that He will bind up my wounds and ignite anew and afresh the wick of my life.

What’s the prescription? How do I float through these days? First I ask Him, then I listen. His answers are varied and also uniquely tailored: Rest. Long walks. Good music. Conversations with friends who are older and wiser. No alarm clock. Delicious coffee. Books that pull me in. Fits of laughter. Decadent ice cream. Gifts for others. Patience with myself. Trust in Him. Watch and wait. And I pray. I talk with Him about His love, His freedom. How I feel like I’m slipping. And I listen more. I hear His whisper, and become aware of His nourishing Presence.

I know a hidden work is happening. Instead of being afraid of coming undone, loose around the edges, I know He’s enlarging my borders. Instead of fretting about the injustice in this world, I look for the quiet and triumphant work of mercy. I know for every dogmatic pronouncement I hear, there is a deep undercurrent of love and grace and peace beckoning. These are not things to be grasped, but they are attributes of a glorious person whom I am getting to know. He is patient and kind and makes no record of wrongs. Progressively I will know Him, and the more I know Him, the more I realize I am known by Him, and this is a comfort and joy, because He will not snuff me out. He will bear with me in all my infirmity and weakness and brokenness. And He will prevail.

I look at the empty pages in my journal and I wait. And as I wait, I dare to hope. I pray for wisdom, understanding and better days. I pray for the vitality of my spirit and knowledge of the truth. I look around, humbled, at all the precious humans I interact with and wonder what they carry. I stumble as I awkwardly offer to help them bear their burdens, but we do it together. I allow Him to minister to me through His creation, His appointments, His grace-gifts throughout the day. And as I float on by, I say thanks, and know that these days ultimately serve a greater purpose than I could ever know.

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