I’m wrestling with myself this Lent, wrestling for even the most basic of commitment. It’s been going on since before Lent, this wrestling–wrestling with my sleeping, dreaming mind, trying to convince my body to get out from under the sheets and out of the darkness of my back room and out into the world or into devotions or breakfast or something.
A few people I’ve talked to recently have talked to me about accepting some of it, accepting the fact that I’m not going to be an early riser and that there are days for sleeping in. But this seems like every other day, and seems beyond the bounds of not being an early riser.
It’s structure. When I have something to do, an appointment to meet, I get up and get ready and get out the door. But it’s the yawning gap, that white spot on the calender–”there is nothing to do here,” it whispers, lying. There is always something to do.
I don’t want advice on this, not now. I’m sharing it because…
…well, because, I’m still so fragile, I suppose, and sharing what makes that up is part of what sharing myself has to be right now.
It seems like a silly problem but there it is.
It’s tough to do Lent from bed.
I’ve been listening obsessively to “Paper Hanger” and reading the Gospel of Thomas 50 all semester because every day I read something or talk to someone and it keeps coming back to movement and repose. But I just don’t get the repose part at all either.
Are you working? Are you interested in preaching? Are you interested in visiting?