The Summer Ahead

I took a step almost two weeks ago and am still sitting still as a result. A ligament on the inside of my right ankle grew weary of supporting the tendon that holds my knee in place. The knee only swells without the ankle brace, but the underlying weakness has forced me to keep a pair of crutches in my car. Driving is a bit of an issue, so I let my 17 year old son take the car today. I'm home, sitting with my lap top, trying to believe in the writer in me.

There's a chance this injury will require surgery. If so, there's an even greater chance I won't be able to have that surgery for a few months. I've been asking for time to write; craving the opportunity to let my creativity flow. Yet, now that I'm here, with ample time to fill, I fight a gravitational pull towards the black hole of insecurity.

Maybe I'm just a little bummed. I know God is at work since I would have thrown myself into our "Go Fish" store this summer--stocking shelves, steaming clothes, arranging jewelry--if both ankles worked. Now I can write without the pull of other things. But writing beckons an author to embrace an aloneness I often avoid.

"Let my heart not be proud. Let me eyes not be vain. Let my mind be on you and not on things that I could gain." (adapt. Psalm 131: 1)

When I arrange shelves and clothing, I relish a job well done at the end of a day. I can see the tangible difference I made. When I write, I simply wake to another day of writing, hoping it will lead to yet another, all the while wondering if my words really matter.

"But let me still my soul within you like a child with its mother. Let me still my soul within you and cling to no other. For you are my hope Lord both now and forevermore." (adapt. Psalm 131)

The quiet may not last forever since school will be out next week. But the summer ahead may offer lots of opportunity for me to embrace stillness. From there, I hope to pour my heart out in words--for He is my hope, your hope... our only hope through it all.