It’s only the third day of the new year, but already, I’ve felt it.
An invisible, intagible thing I’m trying to catch up to.
I catch myself wandering from room to room like I’m trying to find something or just trying to remember what it is.
What I have to make myself remember is what should be easy by now: clothes, dishes, meals, bills, errands
Why do these things seem the hardest? Why do they require all my focus to complete?
Surely there is more to life than this.
It probably doesn’t help that I have a two-year-old whose life ends over stuff like giving him the wrong bagel for breakfast or not letting him buckle his own carseat.
Not that I blame him for my attitude. But the cries and whines of a broken-hearted kid can’t be helping to uplift the atmosphere either.
I guess the worst of it — this feeling that I’m missing something — is from not succeeding at working on my writing.
Because after forcing myself do all the mundane chores of existence, there’s not much more than an exhausted “me” to offer to the craft.
I’m a failure.
Many times over.
Thank goodness I have One to turn to who understand this. One to whom I can return, again and again like my apologetic, watery-eyed little son. One who takes all my failures and worries and tells me my worth is not connected to man-made “successes”.
One who I can surrender to without the worry of rejection or failure or worst of all, indifference. And He in return holds me in His arms and gives me rest.
These days will all too soon pass away and be gone, like leaves in autumn. The balance between joy and unhappiness seems as narrow as a tightrope.
If only I could remember that Someone’s holding my hand as I walk down the rope. Then it doesn’t seem so bad anymore.
Just one step at a time…