I keep feeling these last few days that I have nothing to say. This feeling is exacerbated by the fact that my back hurts in the weirdest way, and that I haven't actually completed a full task this week. I am more than a little discombobulated.
I have a list of things in my head, piles of toys on the floor, dishes in the sink, laundry in the drier, and floors that haven't been swept in an embarrassingly long time. Most days these tasks while annoying don't bother me, but today the incompleteness of it all, and the promise that tomorrow some of those same tasks will return, leaves me empty of spirit--no words, no order, no movement. Still. . . not in the heart at peace way but in the creepy music should begin to play something isn't right sort of way.
Yet as I type somewhere in all this nothingness I am reminded that I am incomplete. That these incomplete tasks are here to draw me to Him. That in my work to complete these things, I am joining with Him in the work of finishing the good work in me.
It doesn't make me any more excited to get to the dishes, but truth spoken into the stillness moves it from eerie and creepy to peaceful and safe. I can stop trying to grope my way out and just be in that kind of stillness.