The baby is kicking now - little flutters of presence inside - what a weird and beautiful feeling.
So, I will confess that even in beginning this blog, it was driven more out of necessity - knowing that writing is good for my soul, that externally processing is healthy for me, that I need to be transparent in the presence of others - rather than true overflow of inspiration. In the past 3 days since launching, I have wrestled with what to even write about, how to even begin the process of writing again... it's like trying to do derivatives and integrals again, when you haven't looked at them since college - looks vaguely familiar, you recognize what you need to know, but the "active ability" part of the brain isn't fully activated.
But in the effort to get the juices flowing again, let's start simple and honest.
As I am exiting full-time ministry, and coming out of the hibernation and denial that followed the initial exit, I am coming to the realization that I am more burned out than I thought I was. I am not burned out completely. I am not withered, hopeless, and faithless, but I am desperately in need of refreshing, washing, watering, renewing.
My husband and I are trying our hands at growing a fire escape garden this summer. We started everything from seed in our living room and, initially at least, were exceptionally attentive plant parents, even going as far as buying a full spectrum light bulb, to ensure that our babies were getting enough sunlight. In recent days, our garden has graduated to "real" sunlight and independence on the fire escape, gaining most of their nourishment naturally and occasionally from us lovingly watering them.
When the tomatoes were seedlings, all they needed was a little bit of water, and they were completely satisfied, healthy, and seemed to thrive. But as they have grown up, their roots have grown and their needs have deepened.
A few weeks ago, I noticed that half of our now 2 feet tall tomatoes, which had been completely healthy the day before, with their little bit of water, were withered, with leaves shriveled up and stems drooping. What had appeared healthy, now seemed dying. Time, and hot days, had revealed what we hadn't yet recognized - our little tomatoes, while they could subsist on a little bit of water, were not receiving the sustenance that they needed.
Yet they were not dead, withered and gone. They simply needed more water. And what they had subsisted on before, was simply not enough - it wasn't the wrong water, or bad water, they just need more than they had before. And it wasn't because they had stagnated; in fact, completely the opposite. Their increased need for water was precisely because they had grown.
I am like those tomato plants right now. I am not withered, hopeless, dying inside - I simply have subsisted on less real water and nourishment than I needed for a lot longer than I should have. But unlike the tomato plants, I was so busy that I did not notice the ways in which I was shriveling and my soul was begging for more water. Now, in the exposing presence of time, heat, rest, and change, the real need is becoming more clear.
I am desperately in need of refreshing, washing, watering, and renewing. I need more water. And that's not a bad thing.
Yes, there are dead branches that need to be pruned and weevils that need to be terminated. They are wounds and holes, and honest hurt that need to be healed. There is false entitlement that has turned into anger, which has morphed into bitterness, that needs to be dealt with. Yes, those are part of my near burnout. But before I can even begin to get to those, I simply need to rest in a deep soul soaking rain - deep and real water, which reaches to the core, waters the roots, and washes those places that haven't received water in quite some time.
No comments:
Post a Comment