I've been blocked for content lately.
Not that the birds aren't still singing, the breezes blowing, the sun rising and setting, the clouds dropping rain and humid all over the place - bringing out the mosquitoes...
I could blame it on the tired that has me sleeping dead through the night from the time I hit the pillow, drowsing through the morning until my three-or-so-hour stint on the couch to relieve the sitting-up pressure from my growing baby belly. I could blame it on the toddler who is pushing all of her boundaries and asking for new ones as she goes, requiring more of my imaginative power. I could even blame it on the photography processing looming over me for a finish this month.
But I'm not sure that is the problem. I'm not sure there is a problem.
Something is happening, far beneath the surface of my daily life and worn-out responsibilities, something that began years ago with a niggling longing and a prayer that I should desire God more than anything or anyone else. I can't describe it, but I am aware, aware that He is drawing nearer, drawing me nearer - and if I turn and look at Him, stop and listen, I will find more than a lesson, more than a growth opportunity, more than the comfortable, controllable, explainable.
It almost frightens me; I don't run toward it eagerly. I take it measured, as a gift I don't know how to open, don't quite know how to receive, love that comes after a broken heart, so strong and so patient. I acknowledge it, and it travels deep into heart-quiet as I ponder what I know of it - what I know of Him.
Tears come easily, frustration easier; I am tenderized without my consent between toddler interruptions and disappointed expectations and my shallow daily failure.
How do I write this? So many others have written it better. How do I live this? It is yet undefined, and my humanity demands a to-do list for self-improvement. My grammatical conscience demands a defined "it."
"What is stopping you?" a friend asks, encouraging me to embrace the new, as I encourage others. "Nothing," I want to say, "It is unfolding here inside me, filling me up, taking me over, transforming me, renewing me."
It is a me I do not know, broken, redeemed, freed, and broken again for love of Another who invites my soul up into Himself, into Love that isn't my love, love I couldn't choose in the small strength I own, love I couldn't accept for my timid.
I wonder if I am too isolated, if I should surround myself with people for more insight, a more constant flow of ideas; I sense His quiet "be still" in a wilderness I thought was finished. Here I stand on the far bank of the Jordan, waiting the call to cross into Canaan, waiting the will to go, waiting for the parting of the waters I cannot pass on my own.
I think there are not often words for the circumstances of the spirit, not definitions for the steps we take in the journey our hearts travel toward God, with God.
So I stand still to see the salvation of the Lord.
Because there is really nothing else I can do until He bids me step into the river with Him to walk through - or to walk on water.
(Image "paint me a picture of this cloudy day" © Informal Moments Photography)