Routine

The clothes are hung (thank goodness) 

The bed in never made. 

Coffee, almonds and neutella have taken over the "food shelf." 

Textbooks, movies, full journals, and picture frames line the walls. 

Lamps and Christmas lights. Anything but those horrible fluorescents. 

The mountains line the background of my everyday walks to class - I find rhythm in the paved sidewalks down in the city. 

My broken window is terribly ironic. 

Sunday | Monday | Tuesday | Wednesday Thursday | Friday | Saturday 

The routine is coming. So is the cold. 

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Missing the ability to play in that dark and dusty old gym without my knee or my heart giving me grief. Needing some sort of outward expression to free me. The sweat and the joy of a challenge. 

Missing my kids. Goodness to I miss those kids. Thankful for my kids here, and how they remind me it wasn't luck, but a calling. 

Seeing ministry come full circle. A seed becoming what it was meant to be and flourishing, repeating the cycle. Praise be to the ones who toiled with us and didn't give up. We won't give up either. And that's something special. 

Too many people forget how beautiful their normal is. I've enlisted myself to show them otherwise. Who knows. Maybe somehow along the way I'll see how extraordinary my messy hair, unmade bed, and loud, colorful life is, even on the hard days. 

 

I'm tired of people coming along with their metaphorical umbrellas. I'm exhausted with wordy songs sung too loud. I just need someone to understand what it means to take off their shoes and run. Or listen to a song with lyrics that take you a long time to understand and even longer to replicate in your own life. 

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My routine looks like endless laughs, and constantly - prayerfully asking God to hold my dang hand even when I want to walk alone. I have to dare myself everyday. Not everyone needs to know the origin of those dares. But the product of those dares are what's seen through my actions and words. Hopefully. I'm still working on some things. Add in some tangles, naps for the long nights, text messages about the wind and perspective. That's me. That's the struggling routine. 

I may never fully mold into this scheduled life, but I'm okay with that.