I am realizing how much of a Pelagian I am; how much of my worth, my self-satisfaction is wrapped up in works and words;
what I do is what I am;
what I say is what I pray.
Which leaves me, post concussion, a little lost at sea; un-anchored; unhinged.
Dazed doesn’t do it for me, and doctor’s orders to take it easy are not easy to follow.
I am trying:
cutting back on meetings, evenings, even a twenty-four hour break
(if you don’t count the emails);
but all so that I can hurry back to the front, in time not to miss the main action.
I am fighting myself, tying myself down trying to protect and preserve my remaining sane brain cells, whilst straining against my own constraints.
This morning, in the spaced-out space between dropping the girl at school and drawing together strength to drive to work,
body and mind equally empty,
an idle thought scudded by, and I watched it lazily:
I should at least be able to pray.
Here’s hoping God saw it, too; understood.
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