Life has a funny way of bringing you back to where you found yourself in the first place.
I have always been writing, every since my father handed me a pencil and a Big Chief Notepad. There was a level of truth in being alone, staring at a blank page with that extra sharp #2 pencil and a world of possibilities at my creation.
I have been thinking about those stories in the midst of endless reading and writing 1000 word reflections on this journey through seminary. Story has been and will always be the thing that draws us back to self.
Self. That truest part of us, the inner part, that yearns and remembers.
For me, that is surrounded by books, all the colorful pens and pencils I can buy, and journals.
There is a promise that holds in the unopened stack of Moleskins or that great handmade journal I picked up in my travels. There is something hopeful about it.
Life life.
Like coming back to self.
Even if life's wandering roads made you curious about what else was out there, at some point, there is that moment when you stop in the middle of the road, look around, and remember when you were your most you.
That moment.
That is what matters.
Because with all the other craziness swirling around us and the always on notices, it can seem like the truest self is no where to be found.
In this season of reflections and spring refusing to come, spend some time with just you.
Come back to. you.
The real you.
Not the selfie you.
Not the posting about all things fabulous you (so guilty!)
But the you that tis quiet in the early mornings, sipping a latte, looking out over the balcony at the trees, longing for the calm waters, and wondering how long you can just be in that moment. That you. That you that remembers what it was once like to just be.
I'm thinking about those moments. In the hustle and bustle of teen daughters and writing papers and prepping for a busy summer, I am reminding myself to go back to moments of still.
And just breathe.
I have always been writing, every since my father handed me a pencil and a Big Chief Notepad. There was a level of truth in being alone, staring at a blank page with that extra sharp #2 pencil and a world of possibilities at my creation.
I have been thinking about those stories in the midst of endless reading and writing 1000 word reflections on this journey through seminary. Story has been and will always be the thing that draws us back to self.
Self. That truest part of us, the inner part, that yearns and remembers.
For me, that is surrounded by books, all the colorful pens and pencils I can buy, and journals.
There is a promise that holds in the unopened stack of Moleskins or that great handmade journal I picked up in my travels. There is something hopeful about it.
Life life.
Like coming back to self.
Even if life's wandering roads made you curious about what else was out there, at some point, there is that moment when you stop in the middle of the road, look around, and remember when you were your most you.
That moment.
That is what matters.
Because with all the other craziness swirling around us and the always on notices, it can seem like the truest self is no where to be found.
In this season of reflections and spring refusing to come, spend some time with just you.
Come back to. you.
The real you.
Not the selfie you.
Not the posting about all things fabulous you (so guilty!)
But the you that tis quiet in the early mornings, sipping a latte, looking out over the balcony at the trees, longing for the calm waters, and wondering how long you can just be in that moment. That you. That you that remembers what it was once like to just be.
I'm thinking about those moments. In the hustle and bustle of teen daughters and writing papers and prepping for a busy summer, I am reminding myself to go back to moments of still.
And just breathe.
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Thoughtful dialogue is appreciated.