I've been thoughtful lately. Not the useful, purposeful sort of thoughtful though. No, this week has been more the distracted, keep my brain cluttered to avoid dealing with the things that are right in front of me - clear as glass - more filled with thoughts than thoughtful.
More than simply distracted though, because distraction suggests that one is attempting to focus but has been diverted, sidetracked. And clearly, I have been making a point to keep my mind as hyperactive as possible lately on a mission of avoidance. I've had no intention to focus.
No writing done. Not listening to the characters sputtering around in my mind (which almost always leads to these sort of momentary lapses in sanity.) Not paying attention at work. Sort of wading through the days here, though surprisingly more present than when I'm actively writing. Perhaps it's because rather than trying to focus on a story and finding my children to be somewhat distracting (always at the most crucial creative moment), I'm simply off and playing with them. Zooming toy cars around the house, crawling on all fours and sitting on the floor feasting on a plastic food picnic, laid out on a navy striped kitchen towel - set up by my son, who came and took me by the hand from the computer and invited me to shuffle off this adult coil and simply be.
After a drenching rain yesterday, the yard was scattered with leaves and acorns have been popping off of our roof, settling throughout the yard. And so today, I took the kids out to explore in the crisp afternoon. For a short while I traded my worries about finances and jobs and all the rest of the mess mucking up my mind, and I let them scatter like leaves over the grass. Instead of dwelling on the impending sense of dread, of waiting for the shoe to fall, I chose to sit right down on the soft cool ground and let the dampness of the dirt soak through my jeans. I laughed with my children. I played with the new camera that we probably shouldn't have bought in the first place. But for that brief moment, I didn't think about it, or anything else like it. No price tags or oil bills. No buyers remorse or thoughts of our bank account.
Instead, I snapped pictures, marveled at the blessings God has given me. My little home and our little yard. The smudged and smiling faces of my children blinking against the sunlight.
At dinner, as we sat down at a table spread with fine, good, healthy food, we prayed as a family. I peeked up at my son, who sat beside his father, repeating the blessing, thanking God for the beautiful day and for the full plate before him. His eyes were squeezed shut, his head bowed down. I mouthed the words with him. Thank you, Jesus.
And again now as I type this, I'm thankful. For the comfort and clarity of faith. For the reminder that nothing can separate me from the love of Christ - not evil, nor bill collectors, or even my own fruitless attempts at distraction.
Amen.
