Idle and Blessed

We must not portray you in king's robes, you drifting mist that bought forth the morning. Once again from the old paintboxes we take the same gold for scepter and crown that has disguised you through the ages. Piously we produce our images of you till they stand around you like a thousand walls. And when our hearts would simply open, our fervent hands hide you. -Rilke Laying down the paintbrushes today, and trying to find God in earthier places. Where and how? I'm still learning.

I haven't been very good about writing lately, privately or publicly. There is only one reason this bothers me, and it is that when I do not stop to write, time and moments speed by me like a blurry train, unexamined and unincorporated. I need to put pen to paper - to make my memories into meaning, and to find God moving in the chaos. Thankfully God does not stop talking when I do not listen well. It just takes me longer to hear anything. Lately every time I get quiet I've been thinking about the boxes I put myself in - for routine and steadiness and reassurance - boxes that paradoxically sometimes bring freedom and enlightenment and sometimes shame and limitedness. Like "I have to run 40 miles a week in the off season." And "I need 'x' amount of money in savings." And "I have to keep my 3.95 GPA." All of my arbitrary goals and shoulds that bring me so much joy when I fulfill them and so much guilt when I fail. My husband often loves ...