Back To It

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God. For just as the sufferings of Christ flow over into our lives, so also through Christ our comfort overflows. If we are distressed, it is for your comfort and salvation; if we are comforted, it is for your comfort, which produces in you patient endurance of the same sufferings we suffer.  And our hope for you is firm, because we know that just as you share in our sufferings, so also you share in our comfort.

We do not want you to be uninformed, brothers, about the hardships we suffered in the province of Asia. We were under great pressure, far beyond our ability to endure, so that we despaired even of life. Indeed, in our hearts we felt the sentence of death. But this happened that we might not rely on ourselves but on God, who raises the dead. He has delivered us from such a deadly peril, and he will deliver us. On him we have set our hope that he will continue to deliver us.

That’s the beginning of Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians, back in the day. Right now it is one of my favorite passages because it’s pretty personal but full of imagery. The last two months have been a whirlwind of teaching an online English course full time, traveling around the state of Texas a couple times, helping with garage sales, partially coordinating a ministry program at church, helping an in-law move and settle into a new apartment, and trying not to let my own home turn into a dusty pile of socks, pull-ups, and junk mail. If only we could send back the junk mail, labeled, “spam.”

I haven’t been able to think much, let alone sit down to write in quite a while, and it’s about time to get that going again. I still struggle with the vast library that is currently available to the world and can’t help but think that my words and thoughts don’t really amount to much, relatively, but I’m not going to let that stop me. Even little words make thoughtful sentences. And to be honest, when I sit down to write a bit, the world slows down, and a small feat is accomplished that can be checked off the List and I feel just so very satisfied with creating and completing that little task. The world gets a little smaller, but just a little more orderly at the same time.

And so we get back to it.

Life continues on in its whirring buzz. The clouds drift by, the wind howls in the corner of the apartment complex, and the black and orange butterflies continue to hatch. It’s not particularly dramatic, exhausting, or eventful, but it’s the end of another day and as far as I can tell all is well for now. That in itself is affirming.

The hum of the air conditioner; the dark night floating down upon the earth; a bit of a comfort, isn’t it? Let us once again share our comfort, our work hours, our pressure. Lessons in patient endurance are never easy to learn, and I have a feeling that my toddler’s naptime tomorrow will only be another hurdle. So we rest easy for the evening and amass the quiet while it lasts. There are enough moments of dismay waiting; for tonight we turn the blinds and lock the doors to its shadow. For we are not dismayed; He is our God. He renews our strength in the lull of battle.

And tonight, maybe we are small words in short sentences, arranged on the lips of the sleeping. But that’s tonight. Tomorrow we are long-winded and silly.

Tomorrow we get back to it.

It’s good to be back.

I hope I get to stay here awhile.

The blank page is comforting and cozy, and I like to lounge out in the dark leather chairs. There’s a thick rug under foot and the place smells like chocolate chip cookies. I hope you will stay as well; we can share a pot of coffee. 

And we will recover our strength, fortify our hope, and bask in the warmth of His ability.

The Laundry Pile

I sat on the couch this afternoon, the gray sunlight wafting through the room, a car occasionally whooshing down the street outside the window, and the thought came to me, “I’m not doing anything.” I had finished my quiet time of Bible Study, noting Beth Moore’s words that God will make his word clear to us in his timing. The room was dim, quiet, the tall vertical blinds open against the far wall, the light streaming in, as a bird or two chirped in the tree whose remaining green leaves I could see wiggling in the slight breeze outside. Not doing anything. Sitting down and waiting, waiting for what? Am I doing anything with my life, trying to figure out ways to get my toddler to sleep, trying to find new recipes that excluded sugar or pasta, trying to find a remedy for this cold that won’t go away.

A slight melancholy settled upon the room.

And then the timer began buzzing on my phone.

The timer for the laundry. I thought, “I AM doing something. I’m doing the laundry.”

The laundry is one of those works that doesn’t require a lot of attention the whole way through. Thankfully God has provided mankind with the mind to create a machine that will do most of the work for us, and the effort on my part is lugging the baskets down the stairs and across the street to the laundry room. Then lugging them back up after I’ve changed them over, and hanging or folding or airing out to finish drying. It’s an exhausting contribution, doing this with usually two or three loads, particularly after having worked out in the morning. But it’s another chance to care for my family, to care for our possessions which we have been given, and to breathe in some fresh air during the walk. But for the 25 minutes in the wash and the 45 minutes in the drier, I have a little time to sit and either clean or design or read or do my Bible Study or write or shower or wash the dishes or drink a cup of coffee or drink a smoothie or pay the bills. And isn’t it amazing that in the few minutes I have to sit, and the silence begins to settle, I begin to think, “I’m not doing anything.”

It’s a lie we allow ourselves to think, and it’s time to stop it. I’d prefer a handful of minutes with time to reflect upon the silence than a day full of busywork, where my house was clean but my mind was unsettled. I’ve been there, I’m very good at getting there, and it’s a struggle for most of us to stay away from there. Kind of like Walmart.

I’m one in a vast ocean of souls. I realize this more with each passing day. My contribution to this planet may never be realized, but as I heard the lyrics this morning, “I’ve just scratched the surface of my purpose.” There is more to the silence, there is more to realizing our purpose, there is more to Life than we can accomplish in one day. So get the laundry done. You are doing something. You’re just simmering, like a stew, until you’re ready. Then get ready, because this is just the training portion. Wait until the drier stops. Then the real work begins.