I have the beginnings of several posts mulling over in my head, and can’t seem to settle on any of them. That’s partly why I didn’t write yesterday, because my thoughts keep swirling from one thing to the next.

There’s so much of life to ponder that the sheer volume of it feels overwhelming.

There is love

and joy

and memories

and fear

and sadness

and contentment

and insecurity

and hopes

and peace

and repentance

and anger (both righteous and unrighteous)

and impatience

and kindness

and disappointment

and in amongst all of that, there’s the day-in, day-out ordinariness of life to live.

So I take the gift and the discipline of this Lenten practice,
in spite of and because of the tangle inside my head,

and I stop.

I read (again) the passage I’ve chosen and wrestle through the good and powerful words about fasting and oppression and freedom and justice and find (again) this reminder:

Isaiah 58:11

The Lord will guide you continually, giving you water when you are dry and restoring your strength. You will be like a well-watered garden, like an ever-flowing spring.

In spite of and because of my weakness,
in spite of and because of my strength,

God is present.

God brings refreshment and restoration and rest.

God wrestles with me through the tangle.

Nothing is settled or sorted or untangled, and maybe that isn’t the goal.

Because in the midst of the tangle, there is stillness.