The past two weeks have been uncharacteristically hectic for me, with appointments, meetings, and tons of extra stuff to do. And like the ponderous genealogies in I Chronicles, each of those appointments has begotten a whole slew of additional appointments that have crowded the schedule, occupied my mind, and sapped my energy. On top of that there are serious and scary things going on both in the world and in the lives of people I care deeply about that have weighed on and wearied me.
The Reader’s Digest version: I’m tired.
I’m tired of Red Tide and dead fish (and worse) on the beaches. The beach is one of my favorite places, the first place I would have gone to rest and recharge, but I can’t, because, well… Red Tide, dead fish, and worse.
I’m tired of the angst I’m feeling as peak hurricane season approaches, after being much too up close and personal with Irma last year.
I’m tired of mass shootings.
I’m tired of public shaming, ridicule, insensitivity, and disrespect.
I’m tired of political advertisements. The primary election was Tuesday of this week in my state. The ads leading up to that day were bad enough; the rhetoric is only going to get sharper as we head toward November, and in fact, it’s already started.
And I’m tired of grief. I’m tired of how it wraps its way around every detail of my life and insinuates itself into (almost) every conversation. All those appointments have had me recounting some part of my present circumstances and how they came to be over and over and over in the past ten days. I’m tired of telling that story, and (guilty by association), I’m tired of blogging about it. Especially this week, (at least for me), there is already more than enough grief to go around. I don’t want to add one. more. word.
At times like this I wish that life was just a big whiteboard that I could walk up to and wipe away all the difficult and painful parts, but that’s not how life works.
There are seasons of the spirit and soul just like the seasons of the year; some are a riot of color, lush and productive; some feel full and complete, others barren and dry. Some seasons are cold and dark; some burst with light and swell with hope and promise. They ebb and flow, in their own time, with their own purpose, and if we turn to them with open eyes and minds and willing hearts, there is much to be learned there.
So that’s what I’m trying to do. To look and listen and be present to what is there; to do what I can in the meantime (even if that doesn’t feel like much); to trust the process; and to remember that the Holy is present and loves me as I am, even when what I am is tired and worried and cranky.
The piano tuner has been here so I’m going to go play the piano now. Badly. (I haven’t played in over a year, but that’s okay. It will be fun anyway.)
“…Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord; …hear my voice. Let your ears be attentive to my cry for mercy… I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in God’s word I put my hope…” Psalm 130:1,2,5, NIV
What season of the soul do you find yourself in right now?
How does it feel? And in this particular season, what does your spirit need?
Where does the Holy One meet you, and how? In silence? In the words of scripture? In music? In a favorite book or place? Through the kind words and ministrations of those who love you?