Lately all I want to do is read. Like for fifteen whole minutes without something being asked of me. Yeah, I'm pretty much in full blown woe is me mode. I'm tired, I guess? My brain is hungry and my body is tired, and days off are not really days off. I made the mistake of staying up too late last night, watching someone on the internet talk about complicated things in a way that made me angry and sad, at who I'm not sure. Also not sure why I did that to myself. I wish I had the option of a nap. I wish I could find Silas' bottle. I wish I could wear all of my hats with grace and confidence.
I think on Sunday mornings it all comes to a halt because it has to, or maybe it's just years of habit-this is when you get vulnerable and slow down, when you examine. I need some soul stillness, some wise old words to soothe, some repentance. I need to be covered under His wings.
In college on the rough Sundays I used to go the mountains by myself. Pack a sandwich, a book and some water and drive away. Sometimes I would hear better there. But this morning it's tripping over toys and a needy little guy pulling on my jeans and smiling his squinty smile, and Nicky with his Mommy? and he waits for me to answer because I've trained him to, with all my just a minutes. Oh, how I want him to not have to hide from me, to not burden him with my heaviness. So I try to get everyone ready, and I fail. It's too late to be anything resembling on time, and so I give it up, put the baby down for a nap, and re-heat my coffee.
It is good to give up sometimes. What is this really all about anyway? He will meet me anywhere, this constant friend. I read Psalm 121-I will lift up my eyes to the hills-From whence comes my help? Grace is lavished once again; help me exhale it.
He is my mountain today, my fresh air.