This writing space that I have carved for myself has been neglected for sometime. Does what I do even matter? This little hobby. This little space.
Yet here I am writing again. On this space. On this topic. The idea of looking for a way to to reframe what is here, what is my life, for good. My life even the hard bits, is good. We forget. I forget. I need refreshment but discouragement finds me.
Goodness seems just outside my reach. If only I had more time, more energy, more resources, more talent, more organization. If only I had more. Always more. Just a little more. Or a lot more. Or less. If only I had less...A little less. Or a lot less.
I have been sick for 2+ weeks. A respiratory infection toying with me and clinging to me. Thinking I am feeling better after a weekend on the couch only to jump back into my life on Monday and being knocked down again.
Now I'm prescribed an inhaler and rest followed by more rest and plenty of fluids and more rest. Just rest. Laundry piles up. Even on my most energetic days laundry dogs me, but now with aching joints, laundry mocks me.
As a new year unfolds, I'm usually full of hope and wonder at all the possibilities that are ahead of me. A new year seems nearly boundless in my mind, usually.
This isn't such a year for me. I have not seen the year unfold in the same boundless, anything is possible, sort of way.
I'm more aware this year of the boundaries in my life. More aware of the constraints. More aware of 'can't' or 'not right now,' More aware than ever.
This sounds incredibly negative. Hopeless in away. I assure you it's not. There are limitations in my life unique to my assignment and circumstance. Unique to my abilities and resources. Unique to my lot. I'm believing they are good. For my good. To be made good.
When life or my own down thinking seems to be dragging me under my faith is a buoy. I find comfort and wisdom there. This verse has been one I have let roll around in my mind over and over.
Psalm 16:5-6 New International Version (NIV)
5 Lord, you alone are my portion and my cup;
you make my lot secure.
6 The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places;
surely I have a delightful inheritance.
Can I really believe that the boundary lines for me are pleasant when I keep butting my head against them?
Even the simple example of this current illness. Can I just be sick and let that be the state I am in and accept the confines of that condition for the short time I have it? Bump my head against it over and over.
The world outside my boundary lines is decidedly better so I stand up against that fence peering at what's outside of their border and neglecting my lot. Down think my lot.
How do I forget that I have reason for gratitude? Most of the boundary lines I lament aren't permanent for me. I'm not chronically ill for one. The boundary lines have fallen in pleasant places, I try to remember.
A friend told me of a paralyzed woman who holds tight to this verse. A permanent and rigid boundary holds tight to her legs. Walking is impossible for her short of a medical miracle. Yet she says that the boundary lines have fallen for her in pleasant places. Yet she makes something beautiful of her lot, her portion in life. Oh, I'm sure she has hard days. Struggles. A wish at times to expand that boundary. Yet, she lets the verse resonate. Yet she looks at her lot and sees where it is pleasant.
Pleasant places. I'm stuck at home with a 3 year old or I get to be at home with my 3 year old. He's pretty satisfied to snuggle with me and read books and watch movies as long as I'll sit. How long will I sit? How long will he be 3? This boundary won't always be.
The season will change. Boundaries in my life will expand, others will tighten. Will I call it pleasant? No not always. Not every time. But today. Today can I turn, boundary on my back, elbows resting on it to either side of me, take a breath, scan my lot, call it pleasant. Pleasant today.
Want to hear more about this. Listen to Emily P. Freeman's Podcast The Next Right Thing Episode 22 Embrace Your Limits.
Thanks for reading.
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