I think change is coming.

It’s a simple Monday afternoon.

I’m in a corner coffee shop—the one with enough outlets to go around, where I’ve had a few first dates but never a second, a spot best chosen for rainy days. Or so says my roommate… and I agree.

My knees are newly skinned from kneeling on the road, filling my tires with air while wearing a breezy dress. I wonder if anyone here has noticed. Probably not. People rarely seem to take note or care about such things. At least not as much as I assume.

It’s definitely not a rainy day—with 95*, summer attire, and asphalt scorching to the touch. And I’m not sitting across someone I’ve met for the first time, or anyone at all. No, I’ve chosen here because my laptop thinks it’s a PC, running only when connected to a power source. I’m here for the outlets. I’m here to work and think. Others are doing the same, posed with laptops and notepads and drinks melting by their side.

We’re all at the start of our week, in an unusually warm September, and I can’t help but look around, wondering where everyone finds themselves today. Form fields filled, last-minute projects edited, social media curated, numbers analyzed, information hoarded, inboxes cleared out to be filled again. As we sit before screens, a world outside spins on, our lives molding right to its never-ending speed. What are they working on, through, or towards?

For me? My week is put together by the nuts and bolts of anticipation. Held breaths, hovering hopes. The work of reconciling—it can’t be scrolled past or tweaked to appear as something it isn’t. Repentance and forgiveness are tear-soaked choices. I’m still committed to this work because I believe it’s the gospel way. My nerves remind me more Very Hard Things might result. Maybe they will. But, the Lord has carried me through and will he not again, for the umpteenth time? I’m nowhere as scared, angry, or cynical as I was even this spring. Growth that is of God’s grace, not mine.

So that’s up ahead, but right now it’s still Monday. A simple day off where I picked up baby pumpkins and begged fall to come, restocked the fridge, cleared up roach remnants, and put air in my tires. A Monday afternoon where I’m not bound by lies or my bedcovers, but able to breathe and feel hope and not be haunted by the past soon reentering my present.

The day is simple, subtle, and slow. A change and a season I will gladly welcome.