First published June 16, 2010
Though I sit with my feet on my desk, my mind is racing.
I am thinking through teaching projects, writing projects and a retreat. The threads of thinking are tangling; each time I tug on one, my mind races to another. “Is this the project to start or is that? Can I tie some of the research together? What if I start here and then work on that and then expand on the other one?”
I should just pick one and work on it. Multitasking isn’t effective for creative projects. In fact, it isn’t just ineffective, it’s impossible. But how do you decide which project comes first? What if it isn’t a chronological decision?
The threads quickly become the fine line at the edge of a wave, one wave of many, waves crashing around me. And the wind is the voices in and out of my head asking questions, raising questions. Wind and waves feed each other, confounding me.
I think of the disciples in the boat.
They are going where Jesus told them to go (“Let’s go over to the other side.”) Jesus falls asleep in the back of the boat and stays asleep as a storm pops up. They wake him, “Don’t you care if we drown?”
I’m here, God. I’m pretty sure I’m in the middle of these projects because of you. Don’t you care if I drown? Don’t you care that I’m letting myself drown? Do you care that part of my fear comes from knowing where the weak places in the boat are, the repairs that threaten to come undone, weaknesses I’ve allowed?
After Jesus tells the storm to stop, he says, “Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?”
“Not enough,” I say. “That’s why I need you.”
One wave gone.