My life has been one long project propelled by a continuously stoked fire of striving. Always a book to read, a story to write, an idea to flesh out. Always. And usually more than one at a time. In the rare moments when someone asks, I’ve often used the metaphor of pots on a stove to explain how I function. My mind is a stove top with five or six burners. I am constantly tending to several pots—projects—at various stages of heat. Some are simmering, waiting their turn. Others are on full boil and need immediate attention. None are cold and stagnant. And there are always pots and heat and tremendous amounts of energy being expended to tend to them; the space is busy and loud. I’ve always written it off as “it’s just who I am; it’s how I am wired” and accepted that I will carry this Burden of the Boiling Basins to my grave.

But lately I have started to question that. More specifically, I have started questioning my motivation. Why do I pour so much energy into these self-inspired projects? Why do I tend to all these burning pots of ideas? Is attributing it to my “wiring” a legitimate excuse for all that striving? What have I gained? More importantly, what might I have missed while engaged in adjusting all those burners? Have I missed something great while striving for good (or worse, mediocre)? Is it possible to hear a different voice when all those personal pots are boiling? Maybe, just maybe, it is time to turn off a couple of burners and rest.

And wait.

And give God a chance to speak. Have I been expecting a shout above the din when He was always calling in a whisper?

One hand full of rest is better than two fists full of labor and striving after wind.
Ecclesiastes 4:6 (NASB)


Jaysephus’ Book of Common Prayers

So I sit here, stand here, drive here, wait here. I really don’t worry about the outcome while I wait but I do worry about me. Forgive me for wandering. Give me patience to wait another day (or five). And help me remember that there are millions out there dealing with more than I. My issues are minor in comparison. Big to me? Sure, but minor, none-the-less. Too many are dealing with survival, illness, hunger, hopelessness; I am dealing with none of those. Tilt my focus to them, not me. Give me oil in my lamp...


Memorable Memories

I have always been fascinated at the power of memory. The way a song, phrase, sound and even a smell can instantly transport us back to a previous emotional spot is amazing. Sometimes it is subtle, bringing a wry smile, but other times it is overwhelming, your face turns red, neck gets hot or tears well up. All from a memory. It’s a little weird as well as an incredible display of what our minds are capable of.

Yesterday I posted some old pictures on Facebook. I had been digging around through old photo albums and came across two scrapbooks I had put together during high school. On a whim I scanned a few pictures and put them up on my page. I then threw out a “just so you know” message on Twitter—which automatically updates my Facebook page (how very meta of me!)—and waited to see what the response would be. I was shocked. Before an hour was up, people had tagged nearly every person in the group shots and the comments were flooding my inbox. I reconnected with several people I had not “spoken” to in years, some never, since they were siblings of old friends, and was in the midst of a few mini conversations at once. The most memory jarring photo, by far, is the group shot of our performance choir, taken at the Buccaneer Festival in Corpus Christi, Texas, 1977. The choir director from then (whom I had recently been in contact with via Facebook, naturally) tagged nearly every person in the choir from memory and his recollections of our choir (which he shared via comments) started a wonderful traipse through our past with several people joining in. It has been fun as well as a fascinating.

This is “social media” in its purest and best form. No one selling anything. No one asking you to take a quiz. No one trying to convince you that having 10,000 followers makes you powerful. No, the power comes from memories and being able to reconnect those threads, digitally or otherwise. And now I have new memories on top of old.

NOTE: My choir director mentioned he has recordings of our choir that he is going to try and get digitized. He will then share them with us online. Another layer, another memory (and hopefully we are as good as we remembered!).


Short and Not-So-Sweet

There are too many things in my life that make me happy that really should break my heart.


Forgive Me

I haven't posted all week because I wanted that last post to stay at the top of the page for as long as possible. This really doesn't count as a post, does it? I guess not but no matter. Enjoy your weekend...