Steps on the journey
It hasn't rained in a long time. The drought held off until the last tomato was plucked from the vine, praise be to the Lord. But the yard is at once crunchy and balding gray. It is sad not just because of a green-less lawn and the poor apple crops, but also to know that the dryness is even now draining future fall color from the leaves. Whenever, or maybe if ever the season changes, it will be peas and corn straight to dead brown.
I'm working on my health. The whole one-word aspiration of solidifying my steadiness this year has proven as absurd as it sounds. I gained a few dozen more pounds, started having regular anxiety attacks while medicated, succumbed to depression once again, and could just feel the blood pressure, y'all.
On the advice of my doctor, I'm using a Fitbit slash MyFitnessPal combo to be more active and strictly monitor what I eat. Maybe the best thing about this is that I can actually have cereal, within reason. And by now, cereal falls way above pizza and chocolate on my list of favorites. It is the perfect food.
The doctor said my goal should be a half hour of some somewhat-out-of-breath pursuit every day. After which I had to sheepishly explain to him that I am usually panting after putting my shoes on. He told me putting on shoes was not a sanctioned fitness activity.
So among other things, I'm walking. At work, a true gem of a setting that I so often take for granted. A century-old campus on rolling hills with worn brick pathways, perfectly manicured landscape, and ancient trees. Oh, and a track made with stuff that's easier on your legs than pavement. Which I'm finding I need more and more as the years go by, along with a very supportive pair of shoes.
Calves screaming and heart pumping, I breathe deeply, gaze into blue sky, search for the rogue feather, and give all the heart eyes to my favorite tree as I pass by. The crooked tree by the track, its imperfection and strength emboldening me to embrace my own.
Sometimes I'll wander off the track, trying to keep pace while searching for the beautiful. It's everywhere. Oh how I love finding beauty in what might seem flawed or overlooked. The Lord doesn't make flaws. And He never, ever overlooks.
The physical issues have obviously been accompanied by spiritual ones. I think the majority of my frustration comes from what has become a distinctly dominant part of my personality.
Pretty much everything I do, every day, revolves around figuring stuff out. My paying job is coding, logic, making stuff work even if Google has to be the one to teach me how. Meal planning, schedule juggling, stuff broken at the house, just find a way. Make it work.
Parenting. Sheesh. If there has ever been a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants, trial-and-error endeavor, parenting is it. Late evening, settling into the sheets, I inventory. Did they eat at least one semi-healthy thing? Did they drink water? Did we finish hours of homework? Did I smile at them, hug and kiss them, tell them they are lavishly loved? Did I not yell at every opportunity? If most of those boxes are ticked, then by golly, I figured it out for today.
Not sure how the need for me to wrap my brain around things bled over into my relationship with God, but somewhere it did. It's been a battle, really between Him and me. Because He will not have a brain wrapped around Him. He is far too big. And even though I can quote the scriptures that say that very thing, it didn't make it all the way through. Because I thought that if I could just figure Him out, His plan for me, His intentions, why in the name of Pete He loves me so much, then everything would fall into place and I'd finally have it all together.
Sigh.
The more I try, the futher from all together I get.
Things are getting better. I'm more content and energetic, obeying the logic of calorie-counting and shrinking slowly by the day. Spiritually, I'm letting God be who He is. Devotions find me in the Old Testament stories, the great chasms formed by disobedience and the King of Kings working His mighty hand of rescue. I can't put them down, probably because I'm living my own deliverance. He just doesn't give up. Beauty in the flawed, indeed.
You were writing the pages
Before I had a name
Before I needed grace
Singing songs of redemption
Cause every time I ran away
You were louder than my shame
And now where would I be without You
Where would I be
Jesus
You were the voice in the desert
Calling me out in the dead of night
Fighting my battles for me
You are my rescue story
Lifted me up from the ashes
Carried my soul from death to life
Bringing me from glory to glory
You are my rescue story
I'm working on my health. The whole one-word aspiration of solidifying my steadiness this year has proven as absurd as it sounds. I gained a few dozen more pounds, started having regular anxiety attacks while medicated, succumbed to depression once again, and could just feel the blood pressure, y'all.
On the advice of my doctor, I'm using a Fitbit slash MyFitnessPal combo to be more active and strictly monitor what I eat. Maybe the best thing about this is that I can actually have cereal, within reason. And by now, cereal falls way above pizza and chocolate on my list of favorites. It is the perfect food.
The doctor said my goal should be a half hour of some somewhat-out-of-breath pursuit every day. After which I had to sheepishly explain to him that I am usually panting after putting my shoes on. He told me putting on shoes was not a sanctioned fitness activity.
So among other things, I'm walking. At work, a true gem of a setting that I so often take for granted. A century-old campus on rolling hills with worn brick pathways, perfectly manicured landscape, and ancient trees. Oh, and a track made with stuff that's easier on your legs than pavement. Which I'm finding I need more and more as the years go by, along with a very supportive pair of shoes.
Calves screaming and heart pumping, I breathe deeply, gaze into blue sky, search for the rogue feather, and give all the heart eyes to my favorite tree as I pass by. The crooked tree by the track, its imperfection and strength emboldening me to embrace my own.
Sometimes I'll wander off the track, trying to keep pace while searching for the beautiful. It's everywhere. Oh how I love finding beauty in what might seem flawed or overlooked. The Lord doesn't make flaws. And He never, ever overlooks.
The physical issues have obviously been accompanied by spiritual ones. I think the majority of my frustration comes from what has become a distinctly dominant part of my personality.
Pretty much everything I do, every day, revolves around figuring stuff out. My paying job is coding, logic, making stuff work even if Google has to be the one to teach me how. Meal planning, schedule juggling, stuff broken at the house, just find a way. Make it work.
Parenting. Sheesh. If there has ever been a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants, trial-and-error endeavor, parenting is it. Late evening, settling into the sheets, I inventory. Did they eat at least one semi-healthy thing? Did they drink water? Did we finish hours of homework? Did I smile at them, hug and kiss them, tell them they are lavishly loved? Did I not yell at every opportunity? If most of those boxes are ticked, then by golly, I figured it out for today.
Not sure how the need for me to wrap my brain around things bled over into my relationship with God, but somewhere it did. It's been a battle, really between Him and me. Because He will not have a brain wrapped around Him. He is far too big. And even though I can quote the scriptures that say that very thing, it didn't make it all the way through. Because I thought that if I could just figure Him out, His plan for me, His intentions, why in the name of Pete He loves me so much, then everything would fall into place and I'd finally have it all together.
Sigh.
The more I try, the futher from all together I get.
Things are getting better. I'm more content and energetic, obeying the logic of calorie-counting and shrinking slowly by the day. Spiritually, I'm letting God be who He is. Devotions find me in the Old Testament stories, the great chasms formed by disobedience and the King of Kings working His mighty hand of rescue. I can't put them down, probably because I'm living my own deliverance. He just doesn't give up. Beauty in the flawed, indeed.
Before I had a name
Before I needed grace
Singing songs of redemption
Cause every time I ran away
You were louder than my shame
And now where would I be without You
Where would I be
Jesus
You were the voice in the desert
Calling me out in the dead of night
Fighting my battles for me
You are my rescue story
Lifted me up from the ashes
Carried my soul from death to life
Bringing me from glory to glory
You are my rescue story
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