I’m a goal-striving-keep-it-pushing Sistah who loves checked boxes and mountain peak highs.
I love the feel of completed drafts and detailed outlines. Wind through my hair, while running through finish lines and driving fast in open sunroof tops. Invitations of new adventures and open freeways, give me a reason to wake up each morning.
I love to live my life full. Reaching high, for pouring-downs, of cup-running- over.
But sometimes there is nothing-only quiet-only still.
Nothing to write.
Nothing to say.
No new wonder or revelation. Nothing to strive for.
Just …” “.
And you know what? Today I’ve finally given myself permission to just let it hang.
Like my “momma gut” after having too many helpings of Big Momma’s mac and cheese or that special splurge of second glass full of my favorite wine.
No strength left to hold in, this three-time-delivered-life stretched waistline. And why should I pretend that it’s not there in the first place?
Like proud battle wound scars of places fought and victories won, boldly should I display my imperfections, my struggles, my humanity.
Gonna let out deep-belly-laughter of joy mixed with sorrow, embracing both the whole and broken parts of me.
It’s been almost two weeks since I last blogged-I missed y’all. A little embarrassing to admit that my cup was empty, but it was. And it’s taken a little longer then I thought it would to fill back up again-but that’s ok too.
Sometimes life is just happening-less than perfect or proud life. Not always twitter-tweetable or Facebook perfect. More like blurred photos, disappointments and trying to catch up on dirty laundry..loads and loads of it!
So on this 15th day of Lent, I’m going to quit counting the days leading up to Easter Sunday as our “gold star” -we did-it-accomplishment.
Instead let’s look for redemption, renewal and resurrection in the truth of our broken and beautiful lives-one day at a time.
Let’s hold up in God’s glorious light our imperfections, failures and shortcomings.
Allowing Him to shine through every crack and every cranny.