Surrender to the cathartic journaling. That's what I had to finally tell myself this weekend. After trying to pour over a book about countertransference and the treatment of trauma (okay, yeah that's literally the title) in my attempts to gain a slightly better grip on the serious nature of the work I'm doing. It's my free time and when do I have free time? And if so, waste not! I made it through 6 pages, which were amazing. But all I really wanted to do was knit mittens and journal. About my impending 30th birthday, and reflections on my 20s, and my persistent loneliness which is better acknowledged than ignored.
So I did. And I'm ending my Sunday night sipping wine, listening to some newly downloaded worship music and working on the thumb gusset of the second fingerless mitt I've been working on since Christmas.
It's been a full-on few months, with minimal slices of rest and connection (an amazing 9 days with my little sister here being one of them) in between. My overconsumption of coffee and minimal sleep tells me I'm still figuring out what it looks like to live wholly and healthfully in my life and work here. I want to be and do here with my whole heart, with all mental faculties intact, supported by healthy sleep and eating patterns and girded by intentionally carved out times of communion with God and deep engagement with friends and community. All of that has been sparse as of late, as my perfectionistic, people-pleasing 'completer-finisher' nature compels me to squeeze out all that I am and accomplish all that I can in my waking moments (as well as many moments when I should be sleeping - if I'm giving an honest rendering of my poor work/life boundaries).
But then I have these moments of clarity. Of rest. Where all that rises and reaches inside of me to do, Do, DO! is quiet, almost suspended, and I'm able to sink into a paused period of being. Not to numb out with television or escape into a novel, which is an easy and sometimes necessary go-to. But to sit and be with myself. With my longings for deep connection and belonging. My homesickness for the people who know me best. My loneliness for God. My fears of being inadequate and 'not enough.' My jumble of sadness, anger, and hope for the young women I work with. My chronic shame over the many ways I do not live incarnationally in Cambodia like I had hoped I would. My gratitude and 'somebody-pinch-me' gladness that my 16-year old girl's dream of living overseas is my life now, and that I get the privilege of doing this amazing work here.
It's quite a lot inside, a scary beautiful mess rolling around, waiting to be heard amidst my frenetic pace. I had to leave my computer at work, sleep 12 hours, and read through a 294-page fiction and my 6 pages on trauma countertransference before I could get to all of that. But the clarity that comes in these suspended moments like tonight, fleeting though it may be, is this: That all that I am and all that I have is enough - abundantly more than enough in and through Him. That all is well and all manner of things shall be well.
So I did. And I'm ending my Sunday night sipping wine, listening to some newly downloaded worship music and working on the thumb gusset of the second fingerless mitt I've been working on since Christmas.
It's been a full-on few months, with minimal slices of rest and connection (an amazing 9 days with my little sister here being one of them) in between. My overconsumption of coffee and minimal sleep tells me I'm still figuring out what it looks like to live wholly and healthfully in my life and work here. I want to be and do here with my whole heart, with all mental faculties intact, supported by healthy sleep and eating patterns and girded by intentionally carved out times of communion with God and deep engagement with friends and community. All of that has been sparse as of late, as my perfectionistic, people-pleasing 'completer-finisher' nature compels me to squeeze out all that I am and accomplish all that I can in my waking moments (as well as many moments when I should be sleeping - if I'm giving an honest rendering of my poor work/life boundaries).
But then I have these moments of clarity. Of rest. Where all that rises and reaches inside of me to do, Do, DO! is quiet, almost suspended, and I'm able to sink into a paused period of being. Not to numb out with television or escape into a novel, which is an easy and sometimes necessary go-to. But to sit and be with myself. With my longings for deep connection and belonging. My homesickness for the people who know me best. My loneliness for God. My fears of being inadequate and 'not enough.' My jumble of sadness, anger, and hope for the young women I work with. My chronic shame over the many ways I do not live incarnationally in Cambodia like I had hoped I would. My gratitude and 'somebody-pinch-me' gladness that my 16-year old girl's dream of living overseas is my life now, and that I get the privilege of doing this amazing work here.
It's quite a lot inside, a scary beautiful mess rolling around, waiting to be heard amidst my frenetic pace. I had to leave my computer at work, sleep 12 hours, and read through a 294-page fiction and my 6 pages on trauma countertransference before I could get to all of that. But the clarity that comes in these suspended moments like tonight, fleeting though it may be, is this: That all that I am and all that I have is enough - abundantly more than enough in and through Him. That all is well and all manner of things shall be well.
Beautifully said, my friend! May you know many more moments of soul-clarity and be satisfied by the giver of life and all that He is.
ReplyDeleteThank you for sharing, friend--I too find it difficult to take times of soul-rest and reflection. I hope you (and I) take time for soul-rejuvenation and quiet communion with God in the midst of the flurry of our lives...
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