Lately my mind and heart have been pulled in hundred directions. It's a ridiculous, cliche metaphor, but my thoughts are a pile of spaghetti all tangled up, and starting to rot. I've been writing, but holding it in, waiting for the fog to clear, the pennies to add up to a whole dollar. Now the smell of rottenness is nauseating and I am hating my fear of vulnerability. Life is tempest, and denying its storms will never bring us to safe shore. So here I am, sputtering the phrases that won't stop ringing in my heart.
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Dreaming big has somehow become a sour taste in my mouth. Why can't childlike faith and acceptance flow freely from my heart? How have I allowed dust to pile on the aspirations of an awakened heart? Now they're just a fuzzy picture of the things I used to carry so deeply.
So fear comes, taunting that the day-to-day will be the sum of my days. My head spins as I grasp to understand the balance between contentment and deep, divine pursuit of the greater.
Even in all this, my soul and spirit are so ready. I've wandered for so long and soon will face the edge of the cliff. I'm preparing myself for the jump. I'm deciding now there can be no hesitation, no hindering questions of doubt.
I know these last years haven't been in vain, but are bringing me to a climax. The struggling, the scurrying, the hoping, the holding. The path that weaves and winds, forcing my heart to trust in the incomprehensible goodness of God. All the trees of circumstance allowing only brief glimpses of the space beyond. The path well-worn in places, with friends to understand and lean on. Yet off to the side we go and it's a desolate, un-pioneered way that we make.
God tell me You're still interested! This film is scratched and pulled tight. This plot has been developing so slowly I'm not sure if there's any room for redemption. Like many a dream in the night maybe it will stop and I'll awaken right as I get to that cliff, and we will never know the outcome, never know if there was a safe landing, or just an eternal falling.
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You’ve kept track of my every toss and turn through the sleepless nights, Each tear entered in your ledger, each ache written in your book. (Psalm 56:8)
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Most would say to invest yourself is risk- allowing your life to be led by another, suicide. Yet I am finding that the risk is to not bear all, to let the dreams remain silent, the feet planted on the edge of that cliff. To stay, when we have have been beckoned on is always the greater risk. For a cut on the arm will close and heal, but regret plagues a life.
How startling to find that it's more costly to keep what we have; that silence and criticism brings more bruising, burdens, and brokenness. It's an uphill battle to maintain fear, and at the top we find sorrow and death. But when we release ourselves to the falling, the letting go, rolling down the mountains of striving, we arrive in joy.
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We put our hope in the Lord. He is our help and our shield. In Him our hearts rejoice, for we trust in His holy Name. Let Your unfailing love surround us, Lord, for our hope is in You alone. (Psalms 33:20-22)
