it's the climb

i'm thankful for a quiet morning, for a cloudy prayerful walk up monkey hill, for some needed stillness.  because lately, my mind has been busy.  i've been doing a lot of thinking and asking and waiting and stressing and feeling guilty about what i'm doing or not doing or not doing enough of.  and it's hard to hear the quiet voice of God, underneath all the louder voices.  it's hard to decipher the one that matters most, beneath the needs of many.

so much of life as a mother is about the giving away of ourselves.  so much of life as a doctor and a missionary is the giving away of ourselves. it seems to make sense that we need to live into places of renewal- that we need to create space, find time to refill, to be gentle and tread lightly and think into our futures- all the futures that we influence. ours. our childrens. our husbands. our employers. our patients. our friends. 

what i'm left with is a question: is it wrong to have a season of stillness? is it wrong to have a season of putting things back together? of mending? of less doing and more being? is it allowed? is it selfish? or self-protective in a good way?
and what are the thresholds? how do we find them if we've not had them before?

i have friends who's lives are crazy busy, in my opinion, and then some of my friends think my life is crazy busy.  how do we know what is doing enough? how do we know what is too much?

last month i wrote this:

"it will require some good alone thinking time, praying time, asking what can-and-should-i-do time. this new season of something. my season of transitioning myself as i transition my littles. it's again about finding the balance, holding the tension of the opposites as they pull at us, maintaining the pose.  it's about helping with out burning out.  it's about remembering that my family comes first- but i don't need to hide out and wait for their possibly neediness to be revealed.

trust. be. try. give. hold. let go.  and always, savor the stillness."

what is that balance? i'm holding the tension- i'm trying- i'm trusting- i'm waiting.  i'm so bad at waiting.  when i was reading about elijah, i skipped over the part about the waiting- but it's in there. 40 days (again).  between his first being fed and sleeping, and then the revelation, there are 40 lonely, hungry days.  God fed him well before he sent him off because God knew he'd be traveling and starving for 40 days before he'd encounter God in the whisper.

i would guess the lonely silence was worse than the hunger.  not much is said between the angel telling him to eat because the journey was great, and him landing on the mountain.  i don't know if he was told to go to the mountain, or if that is were he ended up, or if it was always the place people always went to hear God.  but either way, i wonder what those 40 days and night were like.  what processing happened, what conversations he had with himself, whether he felt any presence of God during that time.  i know if it were me, i'd have risen each day wondering if today would be the day i'd figure it out, be given direction and clarity, be able to go home and eat. 

it has been 28 days of my waiting.  and i've been doing a lot of things that don't look like walking alone toward a mountain.  it's been full of what my life is made of- parenting and driving and cooking and front porch doctoring and homework and fundraising and meetings and entertaining and home doctoring visits and orchestrating schedules and learning luganda and writing and connecting with friends.  i've had several moments of peace and awareness, and others full of self doubt and noise.

i've spent my life sprinting.  running my heart out until i collapse panting on the ground and wait for my breathing to slow, so i can get up and run hard again. part of this is just who i am, and how i work and that is okay.  but i also need to learn to pace myself for the long distance run of life.  i need to keep it at sustainable- and if i can't jog, i need to be okay with the times in between when i'm panting or catching my breath.


maybe the question is: can i let all of it- the sprinting and stopping, the silence and the noise, the walking up mountains, the standing in the cave- can i let it be life-giving for me and for others?

can i forgive myself for needing to understand what it will take for me to become more of a long distance runner? can i forgive myself for the need to stop and breathe?

yes. i think so.

i'm thankful for the soon to be busy afternoon.  and i'm thankful for good friends who walk beside us on the long stretches, who know us when we seem to forget ourselves, and who love us whether we are climbing, running, panting, crying, or just standing still and trying.