But here's the thing: I realized that my own sanity is more important than work. I don't want to miss out on time with my family, especially since my mom still lives with us and we take care of her. So, I decided to take a step back and not work as hard anymore. Easy…right?
And I feel like we’ve missed the chance to learn some profound truth, that we’ve turned away from some universal doorway that led to a better place. Everybody wants to get back to “normal,” and I can’t shake the feeling that “normal” just ain’t that great.
It seems unlikely that anyone would thrive in the midst of a worldwide pandemic, and yet here I sit, and here I grow, a lot like that pesky weed that keeps cropping up in the crack in the sidewalk. In the most odd environment, life is present.
The gentle rocking of the universe and the lullaby that sings, “I am here. You are safe.”
Death is an incontrovertible part of life.
Why do we struggle so? What is it about this final veil--the veil which separates forever the living from the dead--that causes us to beat our flying fists against it so firmly, so resolute with no result? If death is a part of life, why does it hurt so much?
I need to thank my friend René. He got me thinking about chaos.
I’ve been working lately to create a new life—one where I am the “Master of my fate…the Captain of my soul.”1 One where there is less chaos, more peace; less insanity and more grounded-ness. But wow, have I been frustrated. Sad. Even depressed. My now doesn’t match my vision and that’ll drive a Type-A creator like me just about crazy-pants.
Meet my cat. Her name is Dottie. She is a cat of different color, if you’ll excuse my usurping of a familiar phrase. You see, Dottie is both cat and companion to me. “Companion” doesn’t really cover it though; she has been an unexpected comforter, empath, and confidante to me. We nap together—I would say, “peacefully,” but she is on a never-ending quest to get all four paws on me at the same time, and therefore and has a squirm-factor that is off the charts. She is my co-writer of music and editor of articles. She touches my face when I am sad, and makes me laugh with silly acrobatics. She is my spirit animal and I love her beyond measure.
And she is dying.
I just returned from the Visible Music College Winter Retreat. A great concept, the retreat takes all the students and staff--140 or so total--out to a retreat center and they spend a few days together in a completely relaxed environment. Rather than over-programming the time, there is a definite focus on worship, on input from the guest speakers, and on hanging out and sharing free time fun together.
I've been to ten previous winter retreats with this group of people, and God is always faithful to move in big, lasting ways.
