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Saturday, January 12
upheaval
Here's a new mathematical theory I'm proposing: New baby + gutting out parts of your house = massive hemorrhage of all that is normal. And I, like most people, really like normal. It's cozy.
But I think normal is just an illusion I keep chasing. I am constantly telling myself that when such and such is done, or when so and so is over, things will really get back to the way they ought to be. The trouble is that "ought to be" never is, and I'm on to the next crisis or inconvenience or project or tragedy of life.
Long ago I said to a friend, "I've got to figure out what I'm going to do with my life." She responded, "Honey, you're doing it." I knew she was right then, and I know she is right now, but years later, I still have to make myself stop and realize that life never really happens in perfection; it happens in the interruptions.
If I can't pursue Jesus and love my family and laugh out loud and trust God during the interruptions, I will have gone a whole lifetime without, well, life.
But I think normal is just an illusion I keep chasing. I am constantly telling myself that when such and such is done, or when so and so is over, things will really get back to the way they ought to be. The trouble is that "ought to be" never is, and I'm on to the next crisis or inconvenience or project or tragedy of life.
Long ago I said to a friend, "I've got to figure out what I'm going to do with my life." She responded, "Honey, you're doing it." I knew she was right then, and I know she is right now, but years later, I still have to make myself stop and realize that life never really happens in perfection; it happens in the interruptions.
If I can't pursue Jesus and love my family and laugh out loud and trust God during the interruptions, I will have gone a whole lifetime without, well, life.
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