Three months since my last? EEK! That’s just too long, forgive me. Life has gotten – what’s the right word? – noisy. So many demands on my time, my center. Didn’t I just write about not letting this happen? That’s the thing about great opportunity. It dresses itself up with rouge and sequins, and ambition seems so delicious until you close your eyes for a moment and remember that it was stillness and dusk that lit your real fire. The slow burning one with heat and long lasting embers, not flashy flames.

Before I mislead you down some road of lost purpose, let me clarify. I am not following the wrong star, I’m just following a right one poorly some days. I lose sight at least half of the time of the fact that it is not the load but the way I carry it that matters. I am here, and here is good. But I am not showing up each day with kindness and patience and humility. And frankly, I don’t want to leave here until I do.

Where is here, you ask? Here is many things. Here is in a career in which I have reached a level that I don’t always know how to embody. I’m now a leader of a team and a leader in my field, but I still don’t always fight as hard for myself as I do for others, and when I try I certainly don’t always do it gracefully. If you can deliver for everyone but yourself, have you really succeeded? Here is at home with my parents, grateful for their presence and lonely at the thought of moving on to a new home without them, but still so often irritable and short and disengaged. We’re utterly different creatures and generations, but why I can’t I get past that for good, instead of in sputters? Here is holding bandaged, wounded friendships in my stinging hands. My dearest ones, my very dearest, have been those which whom I’ve fought and disconnected. How – dear God, how! – did this happen? Those who were my counsel and joy have taken a step away for the time being. And here is still without intimacy and partnership. More than any day before do I crave connection and commitment with my intellectual, emotional, spiritual, and physical equal, with whom I can chart a course for a future filled with love and adventure and service and hard-won resilience.

So, here is hard. 

But here also leaves me God. God, who against all odds, does not grow weary of me. How daring to believe that God wants even more life and light and air for me than I do. That His dreams for me surpass my own, not because there is some better job or person or home in mind, but because His dream for me is to transform my soul and experience all the joy and compassion and peace that come in through the cracks of a rebuilt heart.

I believe Lord, help me with my unbelief. 

I may have never identified with any scripture more than that one, and it took me thirtysomething years to even understand what it means. (Fun typo: I first wrote thirstysomething. Sounds about right.)

I love that Anne Lamott breaks down all prayers to Help, Thanks, and Wow. Pretty much nails it. But if I had to add one, it would be More. More, more, more. I can’t get that word out of my head. I want to give more. I want to see more. I want to do more. Does this mean I’m selfish, or just really alive? Maybe “more” falls under all three prayers. More help please. Thanks, and more thanks. And wow, this is more than I knew wow could be. And most of all More You, please. More scales off my eyes. More reminders to be gentle and make eye contact and listen. More courage to stretch into uncomfortable places. More sunrises and dusky evenings and sleepless starry nights. More breathlessness. More brokenness. More reach, less fear. 







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