I am changing fast; spinning wild like clay on a wheel … reworked as my Maker sees fit. 

I have a Maker who decides who I should be (Jeremiah 18, Isaiah 64), so I learn to pay attention to what makes my heart alive: classical guitar tones and loud country music. And memories. Of that delicious milk chocolate brownie cake and watching Chaos Theory with Hil after a Chapel Hill Hardees run. Casual. Cozy. Manageable. 

I want to be making loud music; I want to be making music loud. 

I am ordering things; trying to find and give place to what belongs. 

I’m hardly twenty-seven anymore, but still not twenty-eight. There are days in between to be lived through. Thoughts to let pass or write down. And desire. Thick and strong and odd and unfamiliar, though wholly recognizable. I’m not used to wanting what I do now. I’m not used to being this changed. 

Among the more valuable skills I’ve acquired in recent years is the improved ability to discern what should be journaled and sat with in private – not posted all over anywhere else. Quality over quantity of words, I suppose. Except sometimes I miss writing more raw and coming across phrases that jumped out of my soul onto a page. I mentioned before that my blog sometimes serves as a record of ebenezers because it’s far easier to scroll through than lines upon lines of tiny grey typeface containing every fleeting thought that once flew across my mind…

I think being back in North Carolina with four true seasons and weather that changes like the mood of a two-year-old is reminding me how I turned out this way … how I can honestly split my morning with Trey Songz and Dierks Bently and The Torwalts circa 2011 on repeat – loud in one ear to keep me reminded that I’m being paid to email and spread-sheet.

My brand spanking new acoustic-electric Ibanez is propped against the wall of my cousin’s shared bedroom and my Godin has temporarily been stashed beneath the bed. I need space and God will provide. And He does.

And in the interval days – still abundant in provision – I spread-sheet and email and audit and enroll. I pin exotic green plants and twinkle lit rooms and crisp white kitchens to inspire me towards a glorious eventuality.

. . . & &

One response to “journal-logging on a lunch break”


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