O-ver-whelm-ed. It’s a four alarm, four syllable fire.
This is one of those times in life when wall after wall of tasks rise like foes on a conveyor belt at a carnival. Each one flips over the horizon and glides at me, and I, with my pop gun, aim and fire. As soon as one row is knocked down, the next has already passed- past the deadline, past the time to be on time. Time, and task, and fretting that it won’t all get done, fretting that I’ll have to hang my head in shame for my lapse. And it’s not a far jump from “I lapsed” to “I am a lapse”. Shame is a hard rock to roll back up, once the stop has been pulled.
What’s a girl to do when the sun comes up already doomed to provide too few hours for the day’s ledger? Today I walk, like Forrest ran…just because I must.
The Spirit leans down and whispers in my ear, quoting his beloved Mr Lewis, “We all want progress. But progress means getting nearer to the place where you want to be. And if you have taken a wrong turning, then to go forward does not get you any nearer. If you are on the wrong road, progress means doing an about-turn and walking back to the right road; and in that case the man who turns back soonest is the most progressive man.” –Mere Christianity
Where have I departed the road? Run back, run back.
Back to simplicity. Back to “purity of heart is to will one thing”. Back to eyes fixed high on a face unseen, ears tuned to His calling. Back to stillness of heart, quiet confidence. “You will keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on You, because he trusts in You.” Isaiah 26:3
Back to remembering that my life is a breath, and a vapor. I’ll be here and gone, and there’s a sun high in the sky and birds on the wing, and I’ve got food to eat, and prayers to pray, and thanks to give, and only the right measure of His work to be done. One omer of work a day, or else it rots. Can’t take two days worth in one. His measure is enough. Trust for the next and lay your bucket down to rest.
Sometimes the command to “lay it down” doesn’t mean as a sacrifice, it means as a rest. Sabbath doesn’t come only on the seventh, but every day in the Spirit that’s on offer.
We who are heirs to eternity should not live as paupers to time.
My Father, into Your hands I commit my time and my life, my sighings and my rest, my hope, my fears, my failings, my not-enoughs, and my need. I resist the temptation to run from You and into frantic striving- I will run instead, right straight into Your capable arms, where all Life flows. Help me bow my knees when they want to buckle. Help me raise my hands when all they want to do is fidget. Jesus, Jesus. Even Your name brings rest, and help, and calm. I thank You, my kind and patient Friend, for your immense love that is wider than the sea, and deeper than the lowest pit. I offer You my praise, because You are the One who is worthy.