I've had one of those nights. In the distance between the church and home (about 15 minutes) I've managed to convince myself that God was just kidding about "the call."
There are always days and nights, moments and minutes in which I question -- and I don't discount the value of questioning and revisiting. But on this particular night, I'm overwhelmed with what appear to be pointless tasks that threaten to take over not only my desk but my entire being.
Of course these are the types of things that even writing them down makes me realize that it's all going to be ok and that I can hush the anxiety hounds. And I knew as I spiraled into a tizzy that if I just made a list and a few phone calls that I'd feel like the world was under control again.
Sitting at the red light, though, with tears on the brink of overflowing, everything felt bigger than life, distorted in the contrast between light and dark.
The irony in all of this is that I handed my well-read copy of "Bird by Bird" to a woman this morning -- encouraging her to find a quiet space in the midst of her chaos to re-center.
Tweet - Tweet.
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