Every day I look at this page. I like this page. I like the colors, they're my favorite. I like lots of white. I like words. I like writing. I like that I've been keeping a blog for over seven years. I like that keeping a blog makes me think about things instead of just existing in things. I like that even though all of my paper journals are packed away with the rest of my proof of life, I can always click on a monthly archive in here and know what I was thinking about when. I like that even though I have a terrible memory, I can read almost any of the entries here and remember where I was when I wrote it, what specific thing prompted the writing, and what was prompted because of the writing. I like that.

I don't like that I rarely write in it anymore. I don't like that.

Partly because I don't know if anyone really reads it anymore. This isn't a ploy to get you to disclose yourself if you're there, but I do wonder sometimes.
Partly because I don't know if it's worth being read anymore. I'm bored by me, I can't imagine that you're not.

Today I drive to work in inspiring circumstances. How can you not be inspired by autumn in the northeast? It wreaks inspiration. I, however, was uninspired. Completely. Therefore there will be no talk of reds, vermillions, brandishing treetops, rivers, streams, or maple leaves. There will be no inspirational snippets and analogies. There will be no peeking over my shoulder, and certainly no eavesdropping on my autumn mind. Sorry.

I've been battling a cold for the past two and a half weeks (blame her boringness on that). Today when I was getting ready to hand in my timesheet I realized that instead of the normal 80 hour work requirement, I actually worked 108 hours over the past two weeks.

I remember being younger and dreaming of motherhood and crafting and dinner on the table by six. I vowed that I would never make a career my life. That work would never keep me from being available to the real priorities in life. But here I am, 27 years old, consumed with work. I wake up to work, I leave work at five to drive to more work, I work most evenings until late, and even when I'm at home I shelf my cell phone because work follows me there. Unfortunately, they all know where I live.

I talked yesterday with a friend about how the appealing thing about marriage, to me, is that there is identity in it. It's not the husband I want, sorry, it's the wifery, the motherhood. The status of being something, but not everything. Singleness carries with it this unspoken requirement that in this state of "concerned with the things of the Lord," we are therefore, concerned with everything. Nursery duty. Check. IT department. Check. Mentor. Check. Friend. Check. Sister. Check. Sole breadwinner. Check. Bill payer. Check. Worshiper. Check. Check. Check. Check.

I find that my tally marks of being everything are heavily weighted. On the side of just being though: empty.

Excuse me while I try to figure out what my life is supposed to look like in this season. I'm a little mixed up inside.

On that note, though, I sat on the couch the other evening and shared some things with her. When I finished, shrugging my shoulders like I normally do after sharing any possibilities (because I'm afraid that everything is possible, but nothing is probable), she stared at me. Then she said: You know, Lo, I don't know that this is necessarily the thing the Lord has for you. But I do know this: that you need to take steps. You are too prone to growing bored, leading to discontentment, leading to discouragement, leading to confusion, etc. But when you're in motion, heading toward something, you do much better.

So I think about that the past few days. I need to take steps. I need to move. I need to be available, not just scheduled and busy. I need to be headed toward something, because right now I'm headed downward, toward discouragement and all that entails. But I need steps to take. Not the small ones. I do those. Honestly, I do. But I've gotten so focused on the small things, the portion for today, that I've lost vision for the next five years.

So I don't know. Part of it has to do with my last post--trying to figure out what the Lord has spoken to me. Acting on those things. Being faithful with the small things, but expecting big things. Deciding to not shrug my shoulders, but instead be excited about possibilities.

I don't really know how to do that anymore though. It's going to take some learning.

Why do you say, O Jacob, and assert, O Israel,
"My way is hidden from the LORD,
And the justice due me escapes the notice of my God"?
Do you not know? Have you not heard?
The Everlasting God, the LORD,
The Creator of the ends of the earth
Does not become weary or tired
His understanding is inscrutable.
He gives strength to the weary,
And to him who lacks might He increases power.

Isaiah 40