I can feel that I’m off today. I know no other way of explaining it. I know there are tasks for me to do, but I do not want to do them—not one ounce. I have tried to cross-stitch, only to feel uncomfortable and unhappy with the results.
I feel something is just outside my reach—dancing fluidly, entangled before me, just out of sync with this world and time so I can’t see it or grasp it. I recognize this feeling, this sensation, as I have experienced it many times over the past six to twelve months. It leaves me wanting, reaching, pushing to grasp it—a compulsion, a thirst.
A thought springs to mind: is it the spiritual realm where this thing is, or what I am sensing? Is it the Holy Spirit reaching for me from on high? I can almost see the bubbles reflecting the environment they swim in, floating around like a spiritual, carbonated liquid that I struggle to reach.
There are times when I feel—sense—that it is a plateau of some sort. A desperately needed rest along the path I am shuffling on. A place where I would have peace—rest in spirit, body, and, most importantly, mind. A gas station for the next stretch of my journey. I feel I am shuffling and limping along, causing the dirt of the path to kick up and settle on my feet, pulling me back to yesterday—to dwell and linger in what is no more, always trying to pick a fight.
This plateau is essential on the journey the Most High has me on, though I often forget and feel excluded from His plans because of my own unique, troubled self. Yet I know in my core that this is more than a pit stop—a rest, a refilling along the way. Past troubles, tests, trials, tears—oh, so many tears—the learning curve is sharp. But I know from experience to hang on with firm, ready hands and a wide stance, for the path ahead is not done trying to knock me down for the count.
The blows that knock me down hit deep and at random—profoundly hurtful as they twist when they land. Each time, I notice I am just a little stronger and able to bounce back more quickly, having learned a new method of defense and added another layer to the protective shield that stands mighty around my heart.
On days when I’m worn out from the wrestling, when things are quiet and calm, I need to remember not to force myself to conform to my self-made tasks or push myself back up the tangled and blocked path I was on just yesterday. I need to allow myself to be in the quiet. To listen to my body. To listen for the One who calls me beloved, adopted heir.
The soft, oh-so-subtle voice breaks through the noise of my thoughts and feelings that aren’t fact. Are these spans of time my big brother reaching out to me—blessing me with peace and soothing the thoughts ping-ponging about my mind? Has He, at last, made me perfectly content in being still—rocking gently, gazing out the window, listening, waiting happily for His guidance?
Is that what I am to do when I sense these… disturbances in the energy around me? Sit, listen, and wait for my King of Kings to reach through all the hurt, tears, and wandering thoughts?
I am content in these times—such a hard place for me to find for so many years. Sitting still and listening would once have been a true test of my will. Or is this a new discovery as time moves over me?
I will sit and absorb this feeling, and if my King wishes to speak, His servant is listening.
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