I woke up this morning t i r e d.
My body felt the weight of ten sleepless nights, and I couldn’t understand how this was possible in light of the nine hours that had passed since last closing my eyes. I stumbled to the kitchen and managed to manipulate a coffee filter, those pesky thin little transparent sheets, into the machine without it folding in on itself. As the room filled with that sweet old-home smell of brewing coffee, I rubbed my face and wondered how I would make it through the day, back to this place, back to my kitchen, back to my home.
And then, of course, came the thoughts of all those changes coming. Would this be home in a year? Would this be the kitchen counter I lean on next September, making my coffee before school? Would that be the bedroom I find sleep in?
It all feels to big for me, and I don’t know how to make something from nothing. I don’t know how to make the answers appear. All I have is questions.
And yes, a big God. A big God who has been faithful before, who will be faithful again. I have this God, who offers rest when the weariness and anxiety overwhelm. I have this God who, when I have no direction, says, “Come with my by yourself to a quiet place and get some rest” (Mark 6:31). And so I do.
a scribble of jo 