I’m sitting at The Table in Her Kitchen. Jesus sits with me. Elbows on table, head in hands, I sigh heavily.
I can’t write. I can’t get my thoughts straight. My life “out there” is so heavy right now. The weight of my responsibilities are thankfully balanced by the fullness of my joys, but it still requires core strength. A strength that I have developed over my years, but still requires effort. Muscle memory only works for so long, then it’s a matter of endurance and will. How can I possibly sit down to write these things at a time like this?
Jesus, puts his hand on my arm… his warm, strong hand. A hand scratched and scarred by heavy labor. He reminds me that this season of life isn’t IN the way of this work…. It IS the way. Be curious about how this season of life positions me to write these words in the way that they need to be written.
Holy Spirit is sitting in the window, watching something outside, tail twitching.
Mother isn’t here, but the kettle is still warm and the room smells of Her perfume. When I am quiet, I can hear Her in the other room, humming as She works. Works on what? Who knows? Not my business, She would say.
“Stop stalling and write,” Jesus says, like a big brother on homework duty.