It’s been a little while now. I’d say that I’ve been having “writer’s block” but that’s not exactly the problem. Because, I’m hardly a writer, and “block” pretty well describes the state of my brain most moments of the day already, as it is, and that hasn’t seemed to get in the way before. No, the reasons go beyond that.
Last Sunday our church watched the “Revival Hymn“, which I strongly, strongly urge every Christian to watch. The result? My own deadness and lack of true spiritual vibrancy within has testified against me, and though I pray for awakening within my own self, yet I am also aware that even that prayer is tainted with wickedness and pride, in desire of vainglory for some perceived “holiness”, with shallowness. How can I write about any noble endeavour when I am in such a state, without being in essence a hypocrite?
As well though too, there’s just a general feeling of contentment mixed with joy and sorrow with our current family dynamics. It’s got me feeling all sentimental, but in such a way as is hard to pen. I love how things are now, but life changes. My sweet baby is growing up and I can’t stop it or even make it slow down. Sometimes I wish I could just hold on and not have to keep moving forward, but I felt the same way about each of the others and am so delighted with how they are right now, too, and wouldn’t go back. Perhaps this is all coming on because I’ve reached the furthest point I’ve ever gone without becoming pregnant again, and baby fever is setting in, even though a pregnancy now would be met with both joy and fear. I love babies. There’s just no getting around it, they’re special. I love toddlers, too. And preschoolers. Their exuberance in everything is both endearing and chaotic.
I love this life the Lord has given me, but I hate my complacency. And yet, I do not hate it enough, for here I yet am, wallowing in it.
And that is all, for now.