tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45308293774920537432024-09-06T20:09:31.559-07:00live thanksEvi Wuskhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18164530458205506952noreply@blogger.comBlogger1125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4530829377492053743.post-89350854046156728162013-02-22T15:05:00.002-08:002013-02-22T15:05:34.183-08:00Now MomentsI've spent a great deal of my life <i>thinking</i> about exercising. Oh the hours I've spent planning. . . Monday I'll go for a run. . .maybe Tuesday'll be lifting day. . . ooh, yoga Saturdays. . . maybe I should buy some new yoga pants. . .<br />
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Surprisingly, all this mental lifting has done little to tone my triceps.<br />
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At the start of this year I resolved to stop myself short when I noticed myself thinking about exercising. Planning exercise was off limits. Only after exercising was I allowed to even think about it. The goal was to do something today and only today. Funny thing is, so far it's been working. (Mind you it's only February, and here I am thinking about my thinking about exercising.)<br />
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The same mental run-around has been holding my writing hostage. Ever since I ended my short stint in youth ministry (which is a story for another day), I've known the next leg of my faith journey hinges on writing. Writing the faith. . . somehow. It's a wonder and a sense that I can't seem to shake. If my faith story has taught me anything, it's that ignoring that still small (and sometimes nagging) voice, is futile. The hilarity of this call to writing is the time I've now spent teeter-tottering around the idea instead of actually writing a single word. <br />
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Welp. Here I am. Writing. Unsure of all those things that this former English teacher knows a writer should hold tight in her mind: audience, form, purpose. But, I'm writing nonetheless, still wondering all the while, but something about the words stringing together has a life in it--an energy. Somehow an everyday holiness. I sit thankful that when God knit me together he threw in a pinch of writer. Even though I ignore writer me, I do like her when she comes around, rockin' her cardigan sweater. She's the one who's tuned into that still small voice, like she's got her rabbit ears radio tilted just right, so that impossible AM radio station comes in loud and clear, all other fuzz drowned out. When she passes the ear bud my way I hear it--really hear it--and it shakes the excess and picks me up more alive somehow, more conscious of all the now moments that I've been blitzing past with iPhone to-do list app in hand. <br />
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That station is God, and I want to tune in, to set my ears and heart to the deeper beat.<br />
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So I guess I'm writing, writing for a reader I don't know and for a God I want to know thicker. I don't quite know what or who, but I'm writing. No more planning to write. I pray that God might give me the words that need saying for ears that are itching in these now moments that we're living in. Amen.<br />
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<br />Evi Wuskhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18164530458205506952noreply@blogger.com0