Stumbling Towards Perfect

It just feels right. God, in His infinite wisdom (because who am I to doubt), has decided to inundate me with writing opportunities. And for this, I am incredibly grateful. I will be able to write from home. Or from the local coffee house. Or from a diner located off US Route 1 in Waldoboro, Maine. ( Hello, Moody's! ) I will have to attend weekly staff meetings. Virtually . Which means I can totally wear jeans. Or nothing at all (as long as I have the web cam aimed properly). I will get paid to pluck away at the computer. Learn things. Research. Share. Collaborate. Write. I will be able to work late into the night or early in the morning or at any point in between when I deem to be the most productive to my employer. I will be able to volunteer at the school. Throw in a load of laundry. Meet a friend for breakfast. Work on growing  AVERYday Ministries . And already, you guys? I have met the coolest, neatest, smartest people. People who smile . People who want ...

One positive thing to come out of resigning from my job is that I now have time . Time to do all the things that I wanted to do, that I dreamed of doing, the entire time I was working. When I was working, taking time off was, well, confusing . Sometimes you had to fill out a form, but not all the times. And sometimes you could take time off even if your co-worker was also gone, but other times you couldn't. And sometimes it was okay to take time off to take your kid to physical therapy, but other times you were told to schedule that kind of stuff after hours. Sometimes I could leave at four o'clock to go to my grief counselor, but other times I had to cancel at the last minute because for whatever reason it was now decided I couldn't leave the office closed for half an hour (even though it was a slow day). I was never good at being able to tell which situation warranted which rule. And that made me exhausted. And crabby . It was akin to tiptoeing up to your alcoholic...

Assuming I could garner the strength to climb to the tippy top of the ladder, and assuming I would be able to stand, toes on edge, overlooking the vastness of black depth, and assuming I could step off, fingers wrapped white-tight around the bar of the trapeze swing... assuming I could swing - assuming I would swing.... Oh! How I would swing! Back and forth like waves of breath and life and joy and goodness, over the top of the mountain and back again! Swinging to allow my soul to fly and my heart to beat feel-good rhythms of wind that brings laughter. Oh! How I would swing!  And yet, the back and forth swinging would not be enough. No. It would not. Because repetition is good in the beginning when taking baby steps of learning, but it is not enough to sustain you when God gives you a world to break open and explore. Back and forth simply becomes back. And forth. And the heart heaves heavy with more-wanting and the joy seeps out with the tired ache of the musc...

I had literally fried my back. I was maybe seven years old and had never experienced so much pain in my life. The beautiful summer sun had turned on me, scorching my flesh to the point I could barely move my shoulders. My skin was tight, stretched beyond its limit; I was sure I would simply break open if I moved too quickly. That night I slept on my stomach, Bactine sprayed as a salve. A couple days later and I appeared normal. The brunt of the burn was gone, but under my shirt, it still hurt.  I couldn't stop existing. I needed to eat. I needed to drink. There was TV to watch and siblings to tease. Although I was in pain, I also wanted to participate. I didn't want to be left out.  And so I tried to play. And it would work for a while - until someone accidently slapped me on my back, or the dog jumped on me, or I bumped into a wall - and I'd be shocked by the intense pain that coursed through my body. It was as if, for just a second, I managed to forget I w...