I approach the keyboard and nothing flows. It's not that I'm not thinking; I'm just not thinking well. I approach my planner and am not inspired to fill it. I step onto the court to start playing the game and immediately wonder how long it will take to conclude. I approach the sewing machine... and then walk away. I approach the stove and wonder why the food looks so unappetizing ...
I approach my God and take it one slow step at a time, apologizing for my lack and asking Him to pull me through the strangely arduous task of spending time with the Him; the Beloved.
But again, it would be a mistake to say that I am unhappy or depressed right now. I'm fine although perhaps a little tired. I remember those times when the Presence of God was something I felt in my very bones and I sigh wistfully. I am not whining loudly but I have a small complaint embedded in my heart; like the little girl who used to feel wronged by the world when she was permitted to have a burger, fries and a drink... but not in a happy meal box.
The Chief and I were walking and talking recently about the crush of worldliness in our lives. He feels it in a particularly strong way as he juggles the obligations and responsibilities of family and the demands of his job. It's like having two families, he said. So we walk and talk and reconnect. We have established a weekly date night where we play volleyball together and burn off a little steam and laugh together. And then yesterday morning he fell down the stairs.
It was a short set of stairs that he approached carelessly early in the morning. A few bandaids and a broken toe later, he is fine but frustrated. "Like a big paper cut" he says. "Not the worst thing that could happen but terribly annoying." He doesn't know how good and healing it is for me to walk with him alone in our neighborhood and how very hard it was to set that aside when my own toe was broken. And he doesn't realize how all of my desire to play volleyball tonight just disappeared since he won't be there. And so I whine for those preferences even as I sit at his strong and loving side while he ices his blackening toe.
It seems that when we start to step away from God a little, He allows it to progress to an uncomfortable point so that we are faced with a choice. Do we muster up the courage and energy that we barely have to call out to Him again? Or do we let it all slip away like sand? I think choosing a life of faith and love can slip away as easily as that. We are tired. We are bored. We stop praying. We stop thinking. We have a dry day. A dry week. A dry year. A broken toe. A broken heart. A preference that becomes larger than our love.
Lord, I can feel myself slipping. Thank you for letting me see it. It is time to stand up in your grace and fight for the Life that You have given to me. I just need a moment... one moment to rest...
Of course, if I take that moment, I will take another. And another. Now is the moment of grace. Just like every moment. Starting again like a baby, I will need His hand for every step.
God forgive me for whining about my happy meal box when I have everything I need and everything You desire to give me... which is enough.