I’m getting ready to go sit at the feet of Beth Moore in a wee little bit—she and her worship team are in Charleston for the day. My fellas are still sleeping and the morning light is slow to fall. Autumn arrived yesterday, on the winds of a rainstorm. But I’m still wearing open-toed shoes, because they’re cute and I’m not quite ready to bid summer adieu.
I will leave the Beth Moore conference early to drive back here to the valley and work the concession stand for a band competition that our high school is hosting. I have my apron and sensible shoes in the van, ready to change identities from ministry woman to band mom. If you’re in the neighborhood and hankerin’ for a snow cone, I can fix you up. Tomorrow, I’m preaching at the home church and the sermon is not quite ready. Who knows what time the bands will wind down, who knows what time we’ll get to sleep tonight.
Life has been like this lately. We rush from one thing to the next, a flurry of hurry and do. Yesterday, I worked in my pajamas all day—completing another rough chapter in this book I’m working on—in-between some editing and managing of other writers. My mother-in-law stopped by late-morning to return something the boys left at her house last weekend. We sat at the kitchen table and the world felt so big on my shoulders. But sharing it with her edged the burden ever so lightly. Just think if I opened my hands completely. This is what I try to do this morning when I wake up at 4 a.m. yet again. I pray in the dark and let the answers to the big questions soothe the anxiety.
Maybe you know what I’m talking about here. Maybe you carry your apron and sensible shoes in the car too. Maybe the many roles you play are starting to feel like split personalities. Maybe you feel like you’re beginning to come apart at those seams. Here is a word I’m holding on to today and I hope it helps you too:
He is before all things, and in Him all things hold together. (Col. 1:17)
Hold on to that, Beloved. And I will too.
Now I must go take the dog out. Have a beautiful weekend.