When the Soul Needs Rest

Burnout is a tricky thing. It has a funny way of sneaking up on you, slowly wedging its way into your life and routine until the resistance cracks and all your strength splits wide open.

Okay, perhaps that's a bit dramatic. But the fact that I'm calling myself dramatic for confessing my burnout is a symptom of just how sneaky it is.

These past few months have been good. So good. I've celebrated birthdays of friends' kids and art, made stories and memories and in-jokes, spent weekends in four different hotels, become quite the proficient packer, and put a lot of live music in my ears and miles on my car. Somewhere over the summer, in the recognition of the brief, momentous preciousness of life, "do things that scare you" and "never turn down an adventure" have become new guiding principles for me.

Life is full. I am so blessed.

But of course, there's balance to find too when caught in the "embarrassment of riches," I suppose because I can only bear so much. Because lately, all I've wanted to do is find a dark corner and shut myself away and sleep. Rest.

Rest is hard for me. It's hard because I want to be doing, accomplishing, making, participating... all kinds of -ings. I know I need it to function correctly, but at the same time, I hate missing things or letting people down. And then I hear Madeleine L'Engle in my head:

"When I am constantly running, there is no time for being. When there is no time for being there is no time for listening." (Walking on Water)

A week or so ago, on a Friday at the end of a crazy week, I crashed in my burnout and slept for maybe 10 hours. Then Saturday was about little quiet things. Got an oil change. Ran errands. Played records. Read. Even waited under the stars for a meteor shower after midnight. No meteors could be seen with the glare of street lights and headlights blurring the horizon, but for the first time in far too long, I noticed how clear the sky could be, how bright the stars dancing between the branches and tendrils of Spanish moss.

How small you are, the voice of God seemed to say in a twinkle of sunlight off Venus' atmosphere. Sit and rest a while. There's a whole eternity ahead of you.

Lately, I've also experienced a self-diagnosed creative funk. These unproductive times are scary in a culture wired to produce, as if art is manufactured at a precise assembly line rate lest the profits fall or something. Even now, I'm looking at the archive sidebar on this blog fretting at the sheer lack of posts as 2012 draws to a close.

Then I remember the pursuit of stillness, words always swimming below the surface, waiting. I remember how foolish it is to measure myself as if I can add another inch to my height.

Rest. Wait. How small you are. 
There's a whole eternity ahead of you.

{Guest Post} Shine Your Light

After a month off.... it's a new Deeper guest post! This comes from my Hutchmoot friend Ashley Thomas. She's pretty rad, and I hope you enjoy her take on Andrew Peterson's new record. Deeper is a quasi-monthly series on the art that moves us. I'm still looking for guest posts... so go here if you think you'd want to do that.

I'm writing this as I'm facing a difficult time in my life. I'm in a state of transition. I've felt unstable in a time where most would look at my life and think I've got the world on a string... great job, great marriage, all around happy life. Even with all these great things, my world has felt rocky. I've not known what to do, where to turn, or what to think. This album could not have come at a better time for me. 

Light for the Lost Boy might be Andrew Peterson's most engaging and versatile album to date. Andrew includes his usual acoustic guitar, folksy rhythms, always complete with hammer dulcimer (which I recently learned is an homage to the late, great Rich Mullins), but changes things up with electric(!) guitar and some serious percussion additions, courtesy of Will Franklin Chapman of Caleb and Will Sayles. Overall, listeners will find this to be a very new sound for AP, but with his signature style worked through the new.

Now that I've said all that, let me say this: please forgive me if this is less of a music review, but more of an emotional outpouring of my heart. When hearing the album for the first time, I was on the verge of quitting my job, taking a leap towards writing full time, and feeling very emotionally, mentally, and physically exhausted. The album wasn't a band-aid. It wasn't an instant "cure-all" either for my weary soul. In fact, this album is riddled with sorrow. It was a sign post, a reminder. The sorrow reminded me of how deeply broken I really am, how broken humanity is, and how desperately I am in need of a Savior. A line from the final track on the record, "Don't You Want to Thank Someone," sums this up well:

Can't you feel it in your bones? / Something isn't right here / Something that you've always known / But you don't know why 

The pain I was feeling, the indecision, the uncertainty, all wrenched at my heart. I'd wake up in cold sweats in the middle of the night, feel sick in the mornings before work, and totally wiped out by the time I returned home. This is no way to live, friends. During times like these, all I could do was cry. "Shine Your Light on Me" spoke volumes to me during this time. I felt the chorus speaking over me during these times and really experienced it fully at Hutchmoot this year.

And the servants of the secret fire / Were gathered there / The embers of the ages / Like a living prayer / And all at once I saw the shadows flee / Shine your light on me, on me / Be a light unto my path / And a lamp unto my feet

As a part of Hutchmoot, I was privileged to take part in the opening show of the Light for the Lost Boy tour. Sitting there in the auditorium with friends newly made, yet somehow closer than many I've known for years, I felt the culmination of my healing. The enemy fled at the sound of the voices of these saints, Servants of the Secret Fire, if you will, lifted in praise to our Creator. Their songs brought me healing. Their songs brought me hope. Andrew Peterson's words brought me the Truth of the Word that my soul long needed and had forgotten.

At Hutchmoot, through tears I mumbled a broken "Thank you," to Andrew. I hope this is a better thank you than the one I mustered at the 'Moot.  

Oh, but then forgiveness comes / A grace that I cannot resist / And I just want to thank someone / I just want to thank someone for this

Ashley Thomas is The Nerdy Blogger. She holds a B. A. in English Literature from Maryville College in Maryville, Tennessee and will begin her M. A. in English at Mythgard Institute in Spring 2013.  Ashley blogs, reads, writes (for fun and for hire), and spends time with her husband, Ryan, and their two cat-monsters, Luna and Oliver.

Yay October!

October is pretty much my favorite month. I know, I know... Florida doesn't get real autumn and all that. But we do. It's just different. 

Last year, I read a stunning essay by my friend Rebecca Reynolds that helped me understand a little more why I love this season so much. And then I wrote a poem about it, because poets steal. Finally finished revising it a couple weeks ago. I don't post poetry here very often (that's what Tumblr's for!) but I'm a little proud of this one. Also, you should go read Becca's blog The Little Boots Liturgies, because she is awesome.

The light looks different this time of year.
Shafts of gold pierce trees,
Transient, darkening.
The earth goes to bed
A little earlier each night

Because she knows she’s getting older,
Fighting gravity, remembering
Carefree green and dancing in the
Rain, remembering emotional
Thunder and flashing lightning.

But now
She’s only wiser,
And knows sleep makes all things
Rested, beautiful.

And tomorrow she’ll wake early,
Dress in fire red and bands of gold
Because she can
With no one left to impress
And never more alive.