rest and survival

she sat on my bed, musing about the state of her own heart, after a hard talk with a brother about life choices and tender hearts and fighting rebellion within oneself.  “how do I get past being obedient just so I can get something?” she asked.  “how do I accept a guideline for what it truly is, for protection, rather than because you say so, so i will get the freedom i want?”

there comes a time when melting into the necessary is necessary for survival. when the only alternative is possibly death. when the very livelihood of our souls depends on Shabbat, despite our innate thing to do, and go, and make things our way.

i’m no runner in my physical body (although I’ve made attempts, and I’m in a new stretching stage toward a daring goal).  but I’ve birthed babies, and I believe that may have given me a taste for both the agony and the ecstasy.  (or it may be that a deeply committed runner has had a taste of that joy of participating in the act of creation; that’s a thought…)

i do know, in my creative heart though, what it feels like to be certain that i can. not. take.  a single step further.

a year ago I finally looked straight at my dying creative heart and realized it was being lost to the busyness of keeping it busy.  do you know the feeling?  when you do what you think you should with your love – create a business perhaps – and the busyness takes over until the shine of the art has been lost?  i envy those who can balance it all seemingly with ease, but for me, a combination of fear and pride ate up all my joy as i kicked into survival mode.

so I begged my Papa and through a myriad of circumstances He brought me to a period of “enforced sabbath,” as I’ve called it.  i’ve been moved into a place where i’m not known and “loved” for my outwardly shiny, smiling self but rather have curled up and tucked in and sought Him for my deeper self – the one who created for love of Him and for love of creating and for love of people.


artistic sabbatical a


there are days when i haven’t left my flannel flamingo jammies or my ikea-clad-king-mattress, my books and my journals and my student-children-loves close by, candles flickering and hot tea warming hands newly adapting to winter air.  some of those days i let guilt and doubt creep in, and others i let the strains of instrumental folk music swirl through my heart and remind me of Joy and Freedom.  i began to taste anew what Beauty is, and i began to long again to be a maker and a server.

rest is vital to our survival, and if need be, our gentle Father will help us get it, whether by strong arm or tender hand.  He loves us just that much, and He created us, in His image, to reflect His glorious freedom.

so now as i prepare to enter a new season to run, to dance, to live a bigger kind of free, i prepare to trust Him to help me go deeper; to find, as my girl seeks, the joy in obeying just for love of Him; to take, thrown in, any freedoms He longs to give.  to trust Him for the good of my soul, for the life of my Heart, for the joy of the dance, because I am His and the music is calling.


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1 Comment

  1. Reply
    March 30, 2015 at 11:41 am

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