I wasn’t sure I was coming back. To writing, I mean.
I’ve been busy, both in head and heart and hands. With family pain and some long work weeks and a new teaching project and my running, I was running short of time. Reflective time.
I mean, we all have the same 168 hours in a week. We all have schedules and long work weeks. But what I know about myself is that I write better when I have time to reflect. In some seasons, that time disappears.
You know that, right? You know that there are some seasons where you can’t do everything that you think you have to do? You know that it is acceptable to say no to say yes? You know that children aren’t always little, that the edges of the wound of deepest grieving may heal just enough so that you don’t have to keep pressure on the gauze all the time, that a time out can be healthy?
I’m trying to practice that awareness myself.
So why am I back?
One early morning I was reading in Hebrews that as long as we are allowed to have days we call “today”, we are to encourage each other. It keeps our hearts softened, keeps us from falling into the hard-edged brittleness formed in our lives when we listen to lies, when we take counsel from evil.
I realized that my way of living out that encouraging is to write 300 words a day.
Then, the other day, on the “today” that I am writing this, Nancy and I were on the sofa. She was reading, I watched the end of “This Old House.” And then I said, “I need to write.”
As I write, I find the reflective time.
May it extend to reading, too.