not right now

When I want to be in control.

Sometimes, I'm foolish. 

I'm not sure why I thought to start a 30 day writing challenge the week I began treatment would be a good idea. In a matter of seconds, I can revert to strutting around as a look-strong-be-strong overachiever. I tried to think of words between 1 and 2 am every night, justifying to myself how I technically wasn't late for a post that day because it wasn't midnight for Pacific Time folks. When I should've been resting, I tried to get this ol' brain to help me perform as a wordsmith. For the sake of what?

Growing in discipline as a writer is not a bad idea. But maybe right now is not the time for these higher demands. I wanted to skip from writing twice a month to daily, which is indicative of my personality and how uncompromising I can be. You should've seen me last night, worries radiating after I decided I'd forego posting and get sleep instead. A writing challenge seemed like a good way to develop my skills, yet I didn't seek God for what would be the best way to accomplish this or to use my time. It was an assumption, not wisdom.

I called a friend today, after cleaning large portions of the house (to which she pointed out my overachievement), bemoaning an area in life that's another not right now. My brother's favorite word is "cumbersome," and I'd say the waiting and waiting and waiting has become just that. This person/place/thing occupies more of my thoughts and emotions than it probably should and I'm close to defaulting to: take control! make it happen! forge a way! I could blame this on being all-or-nothing, but perhaps it's that I don't trust God with the scope of my life. 

Have I asked him what he wants me to give attention to right now? Maybe it's not to be spent finding a home or a spouse or words hidden in my brain. I'm going to be spending time seeking the Lord and asking how he desires I use my resources, talents, affections, opportunities, time, pain, and passions.

As I head into another week, I want to leave you with a song we declared as a church this morning. Even with all of the unknowns, I take comfort in this Immutable God I get to know and experience, right now. May these words touch and refresh you, too.

He is God and we are not.

Renovation Music | Immutable, John Vaughan

A waiting room chair.


Yesterday a friend and I spotted a velvety chair outside some condos, available to take. We hauled it off to Baxter, my car, and like that, my imaginary living room gained its first furniture piece. I dream of the day different guests might sit there—strangers turning family, little kids with little toes reading little books, mamas who need a minute, siblings visiting on vacation, grinning neighbors and grouchy ones, too.

A place to make my own seems far off and financially impossible. Before the chair-sighting, I'd taken a chance in a meeting and in a conversation, and the answer was yet again not right now. I returned to my temporary home a bit sad and disappointed but also comforted. I'd prayed a lot, asking God to guide this potential housing opportunity. You never know what to expect when your faith is bolstered and you start to ask big asks. This time, I received a no, a wait, and a chair from the dumpster.

One step closer than before.