For two years, I did what I thought I was supposed to do. I posted “authentically” in various online spaces. I hosted a podcast. I wrote for other blogs. I did all of those things, and it was just … not me. Bits and pieces of it were. But the stuff that drained me was not balancing the stuff that invigorated me.
I am Democrat. You are Republican. Peace depends on me.
I am a woman, you are not; peace depends on me.
I am a Christian, you are not; peace depends on me.
In a recent Blue Bloods episode, Danny reveals a family pact the adults all made the day their children were born: We made the choice to bring you into the world. You didn't make the choice, we did. So a bargain was struck that day that you owe us nothing and we owe you everything.
He's right. We owe our children everything. …
Our Life Story is made up in fractions. However, since we forgot everything we learned in third grade math I think sometimes we get stuck and think that PART of our story is going to end up being our WHOLE story. But that's not the case. Basic math tells us that PARTS and WHOLES are very different, and that one piece does not define the whole pie.
I’m so uncomfortable in that middle, in that act of changing. I want to be there already. It’s kind of like going on vacation. I want to jump from my front door to the hotel, post haste. I know we’re supposed to enjoy the journey and everything, but … I’m good, God, just get me there.
And even though this happens on the regular, I am surprised every time. Which means God has a chance to work on me. Every. Single. Time. … Sound familiar?
Thanks to the sermon at our church this morning, I now understand that under most circumstances, relying on what you have rather than depending on what you hope for is the complete opposite of having faith. Not only does Hebrews 11:1 tell us that “faith is the substance of things hoped for and the evidence of things not seen,” but think about it logistically: how will you get there if you don’t leave here? How will you grasp what you hope for if you don’t let go of what you have?
What I noticed aside from the intense darkness—which I know is obvious since the lights were out, but it’s something you can’t know until you’ve experienced it—was the quiet. No electricity buzzing, no cars driving by, no sound machine in my toddler’s room, no keys clicking on the keyboard. Just the wind and the rain beating the house, until it subsided and the power was still out.
So. Quiet.
