Y'all. Last week, I started working out at a local gym. It's been great and this week I've noticed a stalwart improvement on the stress level I was carrying.
I am sore...everywhere.
And so now, when I'm trying to put words together and it feels as if even my brain is a little mushy because of the miles I covered on the stationary bike or the pumping of my arms in hip-hop class, it's difficult to see the reward.
I know it's there, though. I know every time I enter the doors of that gym I'm crossing something else off the list of things I carry. I leave it there - a puddle on the floor - and come home and crash and eventually find my second wind in a way I hadn't before.
The same is true with art.
I'm finding that Stephen King was right - sometimes even though it feels as if we're "shoveling shit from a sitting position" our words, however difficult or emotionally trying, end up finding someone. At least, they do it we're doing it right.
And I want to do it right. I want to go deep even if it scares me - I want to feel that pulsing of my heart because man I've stumbled on something and I'm not sure I can make it out in one piece.
But those scars tell stories, don't they?
What's left a mark on me this week -
posts I loved ::
John Blase's That's the Deep at Deeper Church
And we’re scratching our noggins with ‘okay, Jesus, what gives? I mean, we’ve done all the right things.’ And Jesus looks us in our a-little-bit-older-eyes and says ‘everything you’ve held to this far, let go and wade out in the deep with me.’ That’s the invitation to deeper church. For that matter, its also the invitation to deeper family, deeper story, deeper life – the whole shebang. You spend a good portion of your early life learning the rules and then, well, you get the chance to learn to break them.
Preston Yancey's Theology of the Kitchen Table at Deeper Story -
When I kneed dough, decant the chocolate, weigh the flour, the person or people I am baking for come first to mind. They are there, in spirit, and I am calling out to the Great Physician that I don’t even know what is wrong most of the time, that I don’t even know what to offer as balm, but that He does, that these things baked for them might somehow hold grace.
Duane Scott's in which I'm ruined, yet hopeful -
So I’m here, typing these words to you, because nobody understands anymore and I don’t even understand myself anymore and I can’t talk to anyone, even my wife because she wasn’t there in the “rape camp” with me. But God was and I’m begging Him, pleading with Him to just hold me, show me how to help in my small way and somewhere along the way, my prayers have changed as the darkness envelopes;somewhere my prayers have changed to directly address the devil that he just leave me alone in this, that I’ve had enough, that I need to just take a moment to rediscover myself.
Addie Zierman's Let Go, Let God
Because I’m lying in the massage room and I’ve been sad for weeks. The massage therapist is working all of these knots, and it seems to me a kind of holy work. Church work. People-of-God kind of work. She has learned by heart the feel of hidden sadness, anger, anxiety. She knows that it has to be worked out slowly and methodically with warm cloths and careful hands and soft-piano-quiet. She knows that what we hold on to – what we can’t seem to let go – is stored in the unseen places. The neck. The back. The complex, cavernous heart.
songs inspiring me ::
Joss Stone's Free Me -
Don't tell me that I won't, I will Don't tell me how to think, I feel Don't tell me 'cause I know what's real What I can do
books i'm reading ::
“The world is getting so loud. We are over-stimulated. Numb. Bored….We consume our art like moths. We gather, momentarily, around wherever the biggest, brightest light seems to be. The danger of art created to rise above the noise is that it may end up being noise itself.” - Michael Gungor's The Crowd, The Critic, and the Muse: A Book for Creators
and an older post from me :: the breaking
At that moment, I needed to get away. My heart screamed for some sort of reconciliation to what I felt and saw. I separated myself from the group and just took everything in – much like I found myself doing in Haiti ten years ago. Closing my eyes, I felt the ripping open. Glancing through the open gate and down the path, I felt my perspective shift.
What were your favorite posts?
**Any links to books in this post is part of Amazon's Affiliate program.