I am exhausted. Despite my Zoloft regimine and the ice cream I had to eat last night and my Sweet Man who does his best to love on me, I am exhausted. The reasons are all wound up in this thing we call Daily Life, so I will not bore you with the details of them because they are essentially no different than all the reasons you are probably exhausted as well. But still the tears are very close to the surface today and so I am going to lean on my old crutch for this post: Pictures.
I think in images. It is how I am wired, so here are some images from my life and a few thoughts on my faith to go with them.
I have always believed. Always. I cannot remember a moment of my life when I did not have faith. I have no great conversion story, which is often embarrassing to me in Christian circles. I am a lousy converter. No drama here to shake someone into belief themselves.
Prayer to me is constant. Like a heart beat. Life feet on the payment. It is as natural as breathing. In and out, in and out. I think this is because I have always assumed that God was with me. Listening to all my thoughts regardless of whether or not they are addressed to Him. And as far as I can tell he loves me anyway. Fiercely even.
This is why I get pissed when I am told I must have a quiet time. As if God was in a closet waiting on me to visit him.
Hope is like a giant purse that I carry around with me, filling it up with the bits and pieces of my life and the lives of those around me. It is a deep pit and it is a mess. Broken pencils, gum wrappers and loose change rattle around on the bottom of it.
But somehow I manage to find what I need each time I go searching.
Community is something I cannot live without. And something that frustrates me to no end. And yet I love fiercely still.
The best things in my life found me. I did not seek them out. In fact the story of my life is the harder I try the less likely I am to succeed. I blame and thank God simultaneously for this.
I have only one piece of advice. Rest is necessary. God said.