I knit.

I paint.

I twist into yogic postures.

I bake and build and garden.

I read and watch.

But I come back to this:  It does not satisfy.  These things are good.  These things bring Joy. But they are not all that I am.

I am reading (again) 1000 gifts by Anne Voskamp.

I am listening to Josh Garrels, Jacaranda.

I am moved to tears because at best I have 100 years.  (Nearly) 30 are gone.

I stress about whiny children and rude cashiers.  About the shape of my backside and the dark circles under my eyes.

I sulk selfishly when I see someone in the car I wish I had, or living on the land I want.

I. I. I. I. I………  There are so many ‘I’s’ in my head.

But my purpose is in my Christ.  He is my JOY.  He allows me to embody and BE joy.  I am HIS joy.

You may have just read that last sentence and decided that I am one of those.  Those Christians.  Those Jesus followers and judgmental religious folk.

Please don’t judge me based on what you’ve experienced.

But if you do…… than I don’t begrudge you that.  This world is full of brokenness and pain.  We have all been victims.

I danced tonight with candles lit.  I danced like no one was watching and sang like I couldn’t hear how off key I was.  I mixed yoga and hula hooping and some sort of trance like swaying into a freeing physical replica of my soul.  I allowed myself to be as raw and vulnerable as I needed to be.

Cause life is too short.

It is too short to pretend that our struggles and loss and pain and joy and gleefulness aren’t important.

And I needed to be able to do something outward that represented that inner epiphany.

Late next week I embark on a personal retreat.  I’m not sure where to, or how long, but my boys will be taken care of by family and Seth will be studying and my soul needs to spend time searching.

Life is too short to pretend that the care of our (and others) soul’s and passions dont matter…. Because that is really all that matters.