january twelfth and the thoughts I keep thinking . . .

It’s quiet here. In North Carolina. There are a few less million people to contend with for air and energy.

But quiet isn’t silent. There is sound.

I thought I ought to give myself just one day of the month where I post to the blog my stream of consciousness thoughts. It’s honestly my favorite way to write. Or as some have criticized, it’s not so much writing as it is just typing. Either way, I think there’s an art to it. Much like a piano, the keyboard has it’s rhythms. A cadence that carries your thoughts.

Truth be told, I am very frustrated in this moment. I wanted a gluten-free pastry and a mocha. Out of discipline and something else I can’t quite put my finger on, I opted for home-brewed peppermint tea and a few squares of 88% cocoa . . . at work too early in fluorescent lights instead of off campus at a coffee shop.

It seems like the weather doesn’t know how to be pleasant. Last week, there were only eight degrees and today it’s that southern kind of sixty-degree murky rain.

I miss California.

The weather wasn’t crazy like this. Whenever it changed, it stayed for a while.

Now of course, it’s half in flames and mudslides. The whole earth groans.

I feel like my heart needed a certain thing this morning and I have so far failed to deliver . . . like my head reminded my bank account that my heart doesn’t pay these bills. And my gut reminded my taste buds that they’re not in control. Now my soul is reminding my finger tips that sometimes I don’t get it right . . . my soul doesn’t always know exactly what she wants. Sometimes she wants heaven and is longing for home. 

I’m thinking of how great it would be to have one work day of the week to dedicate to ministry and church planting . . . studying more deeply with fewer interruptions; spending more time writing and going over songs. Meeting with the people I lead with and serve for planning and conversation.

In other news, today is the start of a three day weekend, and I think the cocoa is kicking in. It’s still too early for fluorescent lights; still thirty minutes before I needed to have been on campus; still all day and emails and driving back home.

So Outside becomes the obvious answer – at sticky tables that haven’t been cleaned.

I haven’t lived through an *actual* winter in five glorious, west-coast years. Five years my memory glamorizes to forget the slight daily trauma of riding the train too long after the sun sat down and stepping over homeless people on the sidewalks.

So now the cocoa is calming my angst and has hopefully not spiked my blood sugar . . . what with it being 88% and all, balanced with protein and fiber and two sad walnuts I ate just to anchor it.

And now the peppermint tea is a good idea again. 

And the southern murk is balmy and the Outside Air is actually what I wanted after all . . .

In lieu of the Ocean I used to traipse to, the outside air and the quiet and the new song we’ll be singing soon sit with me and remind me –

that I’m satisfied this morning by God’s unfailing love . . .

the God who loves me and establishes the fragmented-feeling work of my hands.

. . . & & | happy weekend.


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