This morning, it’s dark out. Rain sprinkles the ground in a slow, steady drip.
I stand at the mirror in the bathroom and it’s there at the sink that I find myself going through the motions of my morning routine without really seeing myself.
I hear Thad in the closet and so I call to him through the door, “How do you feel this morning?”
“Fine, I guess. How about you?” He speaks to me while slipping into his work jacket and I hear his keys jingling.
“Umm, I feel kinda lost. Like I’m losing me here. Whatever that means” I say. I’m fixing my face and I don’t know the girl in the mirror anymore.
He’s quiet on the other side of the door and so I let him off the hook as I speak just a goodbye.
His boots grow faint as he walks to the backdoor leaving me alone for a while longer and I don’t like the alone this morning.
As I bend over the bathroom sink, on this morning after Resurrection Sunday, after God worked a miracle and filled nearly every chair in our small church, I am overcome with the feeling that the Lord has closed a door on one part of my life.
And I am afraid of the open door here.
I begin another women’s study in 3 days. The group is full.
Full, I tell you.
The ladies are buzzing about beginning again and I’m wringing my hands and afraid to open my book to review the material.
We have budding partnerships with area churches and God is moving His people to fill our gaps.
Money and resources and people have poured in to aid in loving our neighborhood.
And I’ll tell you this, the man who spends his days in a warehouse and his every thought praying that Jesus will multiply his sermon prep hours, is just a man the Lord is choosing to speak through.
And the Lord is speaking and the more He speaks through that empty vessel of mine, the more sure I am that I am unsure of everything.
I’ve not taken time to write in days now.
I’ve not been able to order the things I’ve spent a week pondering and so it’s not for lack of things to say that I’ve chosen to be quiet.
It’s been for sheer lack of how to make sense of these things.
I feel mostly lost in my own skin, doing things I don’t do well, losing the things and people I love in the process. Every good thing the Lord does here, feels as though I am one mile further from the place and people I call home.
I feel like I am living as though a mere fragment of who I once thought myself to be.
I take time to write this morning only because I believe that the Lord can transform my jumbled words into a story of His faithfulness, even when my words make no sense on this screen.
And I pray that you see more of Jesus and less of me as I walk through this door He has chosen to fling wide open.