May 3, 2023 (and on seasons spent seemingly sowing to the wind)

I’ve been recently realizing that there are large chunks of my life that, looking back, feel like wasted time. Empty and arid. I confessed this to my counselor last night—sheepishly, tenderly, and full of regret. I confessed to her that I have entire seasons that, in retrospect, feel like a desperate and sorrowful “sowing to the wind”—years spent scattering my time and my energy to things that now seem fruitless and barren. And if there really was once ever fruit, it now tastes spoiled and rotten, in retrospect. It curdles my soul and devastates my joy.

They say hindsight is 20/20, and if that’s true, then the view must be bittersweet—the joys more sensational, but the losses much more crisp and clear. It’s hard to reckon with a spreadsheet made up—not of days and hours, but—of years of service and prayers and tears, that all register now as “net loss.”

It’s ironic to me, as someone whose favorite verse is Romans 8:28, that I could still feel this way about life. It’s embarrassing, and is laced with a defeatist, hopeless attitude that I don’t find becoming. But I sometimes do struggle to wholeheartedly believe that God could yet “make good” out of so much loss, and out of so many hopes and dreams I forfeited along the way. The loss has felt too heavy for me to carry simultaneously with hope; so, somewhere along the way, hope was dropped, and traded for more “realistic” desires. I traded hope for gratitude and called it “being content.”

I know our God is capable of redeeming all things; I know he is the God of empty tombs and full wombs. Yet, I must admit there are areas of my life where I doubt, not his power, but his power executed on my behalf. In this lifetime. For my good.

I say, along with the desperate father in Mark 9: “Lord, I believe; help my unbelief.”

//

“Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food, though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will be joyful in God my Savior.

The Sovereign Lord is my strength;
 he makes my feet like the feet of a deer, he enables me to tread on the heights.”

(Selah)

On the cusp of a new year

In for 2023:

this blazer that I got from goodwill // saying what you mean, and meaning what you say // being open to the unexpected // traveling for long-distance friendships // investing in close-distance friendships // luna, my sweet cat // forgiveness // trusting God // open hearts and open minds // more novels // more dinner parties on the deck // more sweet & simple joys // international travel and experiencing new cultures // being brave and comfortable in your own skin, and being secure in your own self.

Out for 2023:

baggy jeans & crop tops (it’s not cute?? or am I just old??) // cancel culture // making excuses to not do the things you love // being too busy to swim in the lake // fault-finding as a defense mechanism // $7 lattes // curating your brand instead of forming your character // insincerity // skin care (or anything) that over-promises and under-delivers // daylight savings.

Cheers, my dears: To finding the good, beautiful, perfect, and lovely for the next 52 weeks, and all our days. 🥂🫶🏻

—prompt inspired by Ashlee Gadd

November 28, 2022

Some random Monday musings:

• I work in the administrative field for my ‘real job,’ and I’m coming up on 6 years in my role. One thing I’ve learned/realized: administrative work is pretty much just all of the work that no one else wants to do. It essentially trickles down to me and my team, where we work. It’s quite humbling, really. It has been a terrifyingly effective sanctifying force in my life. Yee-haw.

• I made myself a homemade latte before leaving my house this morning for work, and that, in and of itself, is a straight miracle.

• My thumb has been twitching all day and not only do I not know why; I also don’t know how to stop it.

• Perhaps the most difficult and important work of all is this: learning to see ourselves, others, and God for who they (we) really, truly, and honestly are (and not for who we wish or want them to be).