Journal 2019

It’s either feast or famine it seems. While I’m out of town visiting my daughter who just gave birth by C-section, I’m at a forced standstill with my to-do list. When I return home, it will be a marathon of catch-up work, racing the clock. I’m a little antsy, and I realize I’m doing my typical Enneagram One dance.

I said to my daughter, “Give me your list of things to do while I’m here.” (i.e. That’s why I came—to help you do stuff you’re not supposed to do yet—housework, laundry, driving, etc.) “I’m a doer,” I said.

And she replied, “But I’m a be-er, and the way you help me the most is by keeping me company.”

This scenario reminds me of when she was little, and I told her to clean her room. She wanted me to sit with her while she sorted, but even then, her style of cleaning looked like this: “Oh, here’s a paper that reminds me of this, and here’s the story behind it.” And half an hour later, she’d moved one more piece of paper.

So, what is this inner drive in me that wakes up with a to-do list in my head and believes I’m wasting time if I don’t accomplish my goals within a set time frame? Home from boarding school on vacation one year, I set a goal of climbing 100 different trees, and I did it! Another time I decided to do 1000 sit ups in a row. I paid for it with a raw tailbone.

My word for this year is rest, but I’m not sure how well I’ve followed through. Even here with my daughter I’m not resting by choice but by default. I can feel this antsy-ness in my chest—this pull, drive, compunction to get up and do. It’s not a bad thing; it gets things accomplished, but it’s certainly not peace.

I feel like a racehorse at the starting gate, nervous energy growing inside me. I am created to run but required to stand still. If there’s no race, then I don’t need the nervous energy to shoot me out of the gate. That leaves me to leisurely chat with the other horses.

Three days later

I feel a little lost at sea, a little disoriented. The stars are gone, and it’s cloudy, so I can’t navigate by the heavens. My mind tells me, “Just look at the compass—Jesus is True North.” But I’m spinning and tossed about, and I can’t get the rudder to work. I’m too tired to navigate. Easier to just drift for a few days before getting back into the saddle—now there’s another metaphor! I’m saddle-sore and need to stay put by the campfire and rest a while. Did I mention that I’m tired!?