[Recording located at end of post]
How can one day be filled with creativity, wonder and awe and the next with tears and doubt? Yesterday, when I finally set aside almost a full day to revise the book I have been carrying in my heart for years, inspiration struck as the result of a recent opening and I drafted a folk tale. One of my spiritual friends suggested it awhile back. It was a wonderful process and I was happy with the result; it adds another layer to my work, perhaps the most cohesive yet.
Today, I’ve been bouncing here and there somewhat prayerfully. I declared on my retreat to begin each day in my studio with a candle and prayer. I lit the candle, quasi-prayed, then got busy listing and charting all of the directions I am pulled: workshops, blogging, polishing my book, Artsy Fartsy, a new freelance possibility, helping grow my husband’s business.
It has been the complete opposite of yesterday’s experience. It is some of the work I had hoped to complete while on retreat, but the flu struck and there wasn’t much to do but rest. That’s the command I got one morning after a sleepless, fevered night. Still, I bundled up, pulled my boots on and headed to the labyrinth, then the peace trail. I had not yet had the chance to hike and, by golly, I was determined to do so. Arriving at the stream, I carefully planted my boot in the strongest-looking mud to cross and, surprisingly, ended up on the fudgy bank, seated. I pulled myself up, inspecting just how muddied I was, and ventured on, restless. This was just not a day for hiking. I should have listened to God in the first place.
That’s what I did yesterday, when the writing went so smoothly and what I neglected today, when I have been scattered and unproductive, except to drive myself crazy.
Begin EVERY day
with a candle & lamp; prayer
the scrawling on the green chalkboard reminds me. That doesn’t mean light the candle and get busy. Light the candle and have tea, light the candle and read. It means precisely what it says. Not even light the candle and blog.
So, now I’m back after sitting quietly in prayer. My questions aren’t answered, but my heart is at peace. I emptied myself and just sat, waiting on God, feeling her presence and my anxiety drain.
Where does this pattern of pushing originate? Pushing to get things done, tick one more item off the list, watch the clock and be so bound? In prayer, time stands still as if not a constraint, assuring me that I don’t have to rush. So I don’t.
• What happens when I begin my day with prayer?
• When I don’t?
• How do I create time for communion with Spirit?
• How does that prayer time shape my days?
• When I am out of sorts, how does prayer balance me?
so much on
after a retreat
and another few
so much to
got to get to
it, get it done
so I can move
and forth and
until I re-set
Listen to this post: