can you read me?

It may sound a little bit boring, but I've been making lists in my journal of things that either I've already accomplished, or things that I would like to accomplish. These lists are my proof that I'm spending my time wisely.

And there are even moments which surprise me in what's been accomplished--or times when what "acts" I can name seem meager from probably most people's perspectives, yet which turn out to be the most significant of events in whole 24 hour days.

Sometimes at meals or when we sit down to study the Bible together, Nora prays this simple sentence: "God, please help us to be productive in your sight (today/tonight/fill in the blank)."

Reminds me that I'm not made whole by my works, by those little items on my lists--even though I do sometimes act as though all of my activities are somehow tallied up on a big chart in God's office and calculated in terms of my usefulness to him.

Far, far, far from the truth.

Yesterday, for example, God helped calm me down about all of those *things* that needed doing, or that I thought needed doing in order to prepare or plan for my unknown future. You see, sometimes the lists get overwhelming, or the act of making a list is detached from the actual purpose of the list--which is often to encourage.

And all of that time from the night before, when it felt indulgent to lay on my bed and listen to someone's roadtrip documentary, actually proved significant in providing me with a broader perspective on my present situation or situation of unease. I was reminded that it's okay not to know yet what I'll do next year; that I don't need to scurry around trying to shape up my poetry or other writing into the frames that I imagine the professional writers expect.

I don't know if I'm making much sense to anyone here, but I guess it's alright. God was also telling me to be myself--which seems a trite thing to be reminded of, but I've been tagging on to the dreams and the styles of certain other people lately. These words were really for me. It's been a productive few days.

And the poetry, the enjoyment I tend to experience in piecing together a poem, has surprised me with its return--thanks to you-know-who and all of the events, realizations that he's brought me.


Was the writing in this post strange for anyone else besides me? It's been difficult for me to collect my thoughts in good writing here tonight, for some reason. So... sorry for probably making this post much wordier than it needed to be. If you read it anyway, thanks for sticking with it.