Weekend Rambles

I'm tired. It's time to stop. Time to rest and rejuvenate and recharge my batteries.

Lately my life has been really full. Full of busy, full of never-ending work loads and ever-growing to-do lists. It's just been really full of stuff that makes my days feel longer than they should but with never enough hours to do the things that need doing. It feels like pushing on and barely making it. As if my eyes are being help open by match sticks at the end of the day. Fatigue is setting in. I'm anticipating next weekend when I'm away for three days. I know that's not long but I'll be leaving my life and its normal routines and responsibilities for the comfort and familiarity of home.

I've wanted to write more and be here more than I have but reality has a way, in spite of my best intentions, of changing my carefully laid out plans. So, there are lots of things I want to write, ideas that are currently floating in my head that have yet to make their way onto the page. Feelings of failure creep up on me but I remind myself that I have no rules here. So take me or leave me. There are no guarantees. Don't always trust what I say. For now, I'll be slowing down and resting for a little bit.

On a side note:

It's spring. Finally...winter is definitely over.

I went to pick up a package from Amazon today. I got this, this, and this. Can't wait to start reading.

I've been doing art this week. I'm so proud. Don't know why I feel the need to include this but hey!...

Remember I spoke about brokenness recently? I read this today:


There may be legitimate cause to bend, to break down, to remain hard, hurt, a victim. There may be a thousand reasons to stay in your grief, unwilling or unable to let go. We can stop there, if we want to. We can live in our world-mold and be right and lonely. And yet. Whole only comes after broken. Healing only comes after wounds. Are we willing to go a bit further and see?

“By his wounds we are healed. But they are our wounds, too; and until we have been healed we do not know what wholeness is. The discipline of creation, be it to paint, compose, write, is an effort toward wholeness …

Madeleine L’Engle, Walking on Water

You can read the full post here.