I’ve been missing my other home for the past 2 days.
Not that I should be surprised by this little fact, but as I screamed the kids into bed tonight, I really just wanted to sit somewhere alone and cry and mourn the life I used to live.
I’ve been expecting this mourning to happen, especially since I’ve just opened my hands to this idea of loving our ramshackle of a city and agreeing with God to go and write about it and the people who live here. I’ve even pried open my gnarly heart to the idea of inviting others into all of this writing and sharing and excitement.
And yet I sit here in my favorite corner of house, in my favorite chair, enjoying a glass of my new favorite wine, and I somehow feel altogether lonely and unsure of myself.
Honestly, I feel like I am wading through uncharted territory in a life that I didn’t pick in a city that threatens to swallow me whole.
For 2 days, I’ve driven for miles and miles, crawling in and out of the car, snapping frames of beauty, and talking with people who are living a great story and tonight, I sit in my front room fighting for JOY.
Tonight, I think the devil is winning.
I scroll though the 168 photos I’ve captured in the last couple of days and I blink and blink and blink as each one moves across the screen.
I delete a few and I save a few more and I move some because they tell a story that I think needs to be told.
And I wrestle with each move of the pictures.
I fight my own will and I argue with the devil and this anything is not what I bargained for- I thought my anything was something else.
I wanted it to be something else.
I look at the week and how every block of time is filled and I’m angry with Jesus for taking my time- Pick someone else, I tell Him. Someone with more time and more energy and better connections with the people who run our city. I’m a nobody with no voice and a nobody with a one lens kinda camera, and a nobody with a house full of some bodies.
And I saddle up next to the devil who sits with me in this room and I point my finger at Jesus. “What are you thinking?” I ask Him. “No one likes this place. You caught me on a good day, Jesus. I didn’t really mean I’d do it. I got no time, no energy, no drive to do this thing.”
I’m curled up next to the one who smiles at my defeat and like, Peter, I’m caught in my denial of Who I know Jesus to be.
I choke on every word that spews from my mouth.
It’s late now and my body aches for sleep. My mind churns with a million little things and my brow is furrowed with things I can’t wrap words around. My stomach turns over as I think through everything I’ve said yes to and I push down every ounce of doubt that tries to strangle my small voice.
And this is how I know that God is about something bigger than myself.
This is how I know that God is about to bring glory to Himself and that I’ve been invited to a front row seat at the show because what He has asked me to do makes no kind of good sense.
And I know this, because Satan has set up a playground in my backyard and in my house and in my mind.
He has made it his business to mess with my heart, my mind, and my physical body. He has set up camp right next to my chair, right in the window that filters the very light of Life, and he’s messing with me.
He’s trying to fracture the Light.
And I blink my eyes over and over again, trying to see the Light as He is meant to be seen.