You know the feeling when you have stuffed yourself sick. You push back from the table and zombie-like waddle to someplace close by to recline. My sister-in-law calls it a food coma.
I'm feeling stuffed like that. But on thoughts and words instead of food. I attended Relevant almost two weeks ago, a Christian women blogger's conference that turned out to be a whole lot more about being a Christian woman than a blogger. Since then I've felt like I need to lie down in silence and digest for awhile. All the thoughts in my mind floating around, inspiring, somehow connected, but feeling disjointed.
Like a puzzle. All the pieces dumped out. I'm sure they're all here. The picture on the box reassures me there's form to this chaos. I even think I've assembled the outline. Now I'm just working on the landscape.
Today feels like the sky. How in the world do you take random pieces of blue and figure out where they all fit?
You observe. You try.
It's easy to write words. It's not easy to live them. My words here often don't match up with my steps. Envision children looking over my shoulder, pulling on my attention, being shooshed away, so I can just finish this thought . . and another, and another. "Mommm, you said you were almost done."
Maybe that's why my tongue feels tied. Struggling to express a heart full, I want to bring not just expressions but testimony of feet true.
I need to do more walking, stepping, and less "talking" right now. That's hard, because talking gives me a sense of fulfillment. Walking is hard. Messy. True.
Thanksgiving is near, so the magazine racks are full of both delicious, fattening recipes and strategies on how not to gain a pant size. Ironic. A mixed message delivering both comfort and truth. Both relevant. I want my words to be like that. A meal, an offering, hopefully some sustenance, reflecting an authentic life.
Even if my pants are too tight.