I've been in a strange sort of headspace the past few days. No apparent reason except maybe the constrictions of a busy non-stop schedule feeling a bit like a vise on my mind (my soul?)... and a tad more sleep might be nice.
I'm not one that naturally loves routines, but have come to love it and thrive on it because of how it allows me to be efficient and organized - all that good stuff. But often what gets me out of an emotional rut is a break from the routine, something to swivel me out of my chair and allow me to look upon the whole world with a renewed perspective.
Yesterday morning I woke up earlier than I usually do, before anyone else in the house was awake, and had some quiet time. Quiet time as in just that, being quiet and alone. And quiet time as in letting my prayers be the loudest thing happening at that moment. I peeked outside and it was an amazing spring morning - crisp and brand new being the adjectives that come to mind - and I ran out to the grocery store to pick up a few things before the hustle of the morning routine had to start. I listened to Nicole Nordeman on the way back, and started going through her Woven and Spun album, which brought me right back to 2005 and all of those private quiet times I had during that period of my life. I felt whole remembering what it was like to simply enjoy being in love with something so much bigger than me. No deep explanations or analysis, just reveling in the feeling of being held and surrounded.
There are times, like this week, when things feel hysterically busy and the solution seems to be to press on the accelerator a bit harder, but then you can feel that something is not quite right so instead you take a breath and slow down. Sure, that 30 minutes between a hectic dinner time and having to leave the house again could be filled with a few more things from the to-do list, but at the expense of what? Instead, let me choose to sit down next to my daughter, ask her a few more questions about her day, gaze out the window to count how many different shades of green I can see on the trees, and be still.
I'm not one that naturally loves routines, but have come to love it and thrive on it because of how it allows me to be efficient and organized - all that good stuff. But often what gets me out of an emotional rut is a break from the routine, something to swivel me out of my chair and allow me to look upon the whole world with a renewed perspective.
Yesterday morning I woke up earlier than I usually do, before anyone else in the house was awake, and had some quiet time. Quiet time as in just that, being quiet and alone. And quiet time as in letting my prayers be the loudest thing happening at that moment. I peeked outside and it was an amazing spring morning - crisp and brand new being the adjectives that come to mind - and I ran out to the grocery store to pick up a few things before the hustle of the morning routine had to start. I listened to Nicole Nordeman on the way back, and started going through her Woven and Spun album, which brought me right back to 2005 and all of those private quiet times I had during that period of my life. I felt whole remembering what it was like to simply enjoy being in love with something so much bigger than me. No deep explanations or analysis, just reveling in the feeling of being held and surrounded.
There are times, like this week, when things feel hysterically busy and the solution seems to be to press on the accelerator a bit harder, but then you can feel that something is not quite right so instead you take a breath and slow down. Sure, that 30 minutes between a hectic dinner time and having to leave the house again could be filled with a few more things from the to-do list, but at the expense of what? Instead, let me choose to sit down next to my daughter, ask her a few more questions about her day, gaze out the window to count how many different shades of green I can see on the trees, and be still.
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