Where have you been? Where are you going? And why?
I watch the day awaken. Winged shadows dart from right to left and back again across the yard. The owners chirp away from the trees above. The wind blows ever so gently; a leaf drifts turning over itself on its way toward a resting place. A chipmunk scampers across my woodpile that sits more depleted than this time yesterday. The ashes lay cold in my fire pit encircled by chairs that whisper stories from the previous night.
And I sit at my desk overlooking it all, pen in hand, journal open before me. Wanting. Always wanting. I still haven’t found what I’m looking for. U2’s melody echoes deeper than the cerebral. I hear the white noise from the next room where my daughters sleep. I remember my own mother sitting at her desk, pen and journal and Scripture, her gaze turned toward the rising sun. Morning after morning. She may sit there now. Prayerfully my daughters will do the same one day. And I hate it. I search in this morning for something that will satisfy me enough that I won’t have any need to open my journal again. If God gives me tomorrow, I will be back in this chair. Wanting.
A white-tailed deer drinks from the creek; I want to drink God, deep draughts of God. I’m thirsty for God-alive. I wonder, “Will I ever make it – arrive and drink in God’s presence?” -Psalm 42: 1-2 The Message