a reflection.

i haven't been writing much these days. i used to sit at my desk when it was time to be still and quiet. i would read and pray, and i would write a lot. i wrote a lot in my journal, and sometimes a few thoughts would make there way here.

but i haven't been writing much these days. usually, when it is time to be still and quiet, i sit down on the couch and watch the candle flicker in the reflection of the water in the jug of flowers on the coffee table. i will read and pray, but i don't write a lot.

to be honest, this lack of writing troubled me a first. for a long time i have been writing. writing has been a regular form of exercise: mentally, emotionally, spiritually. it has been cathartic. over the years, i have noticed that when i am not writing, often it is because i am not well. when i think of it, however, there have been plenty of times when i was writing and was not well. regardless, writing has been something i have done. and so, to not do it seemed odd.

i have tried to write. i still sit from time to time at my desk and open my journal and take out my pen. but the words come so slowly, and often so few.

i work alone. i work in a field, walking back and forth down the rows, planting, pulling weeds, watering, digging up and planting again. today i moved thirty struggling artichoke plants from a single row at the start of the field to newly formed beds one hundred feet towards the opposite end. i could explain the whole process, but needless to say after a while it doesn't require much thought. truth be told, while i am working, my work doesn't require much thought. and so my mind is free to think, and it makes much use of its liberty. often i try to pray a simple prayer to keep my mind from wandering so much, or worse, from dwelling in the undesirable places. i am not often successful, and my days end with a tired body and perhaps an even tireder mind.

i suppose that this could have much to do with my lack of writing. but i also wonder if it is something else. i wonder if, perhaps, i no longer feel such a pressing need to write. i wonder if i am no longer afraid of forgetting, or of not thinking, or praying. i wonder if i no longer feel that i have so much to figure out. i wonder if, perhaps, i no longer have so much that i feel i need to get out. i wonder if this is peace. i wonder if i am simply learning to be content, to trust God, and be with Him.

i take my mornings slow. i wake up, make some coffee, and sit down on my couch. i light the candle on the coffee table and stare at the flickering in the reflection of the water. i pick up the Bible, or a book, or nothing. i read or i pray or i sit. i wait for the morning's anxieties to come, and when they do i pray over them, and most days they leave. i thank God for His love, for my life, and for peace. i ask Him to keep me near. sometimes i get up and get ready for my day's work. sometimes i sit a while longer.


[ there is not in the world a kind of life more sweet and delightful, than that of a continual conversation with God. ]      -brother lawrence