I tick down a mental list of everything we’ll need and quickly throw them into bags: three swimsuits, a sun hat, a couple of monster trucks and some rubber gators from the bathtub. I hop in the car, scoop the girls up from school and peel off the street as quickly as I can. No idle chit chat, no looking back.
With each passing mile my blood pressure lowers. We make our way to the bridge that takes us over the intracoastal and I feel relief creep into my soul as I look at the view from on high. My phone rings and I ignore it. There’s something about a wide expanse of water that frees me.
As we walk down to the water’s edge I know this was the right thing to do, the best thing I’ve done all week. No homework begging to be started, no dishes staring at me from the sink, no pressure to DO. Only water and sand and a big blue horizon looming over waves that don’t stop coming and it all says, “Just be.”
The desire to unplug hints at where I’m headed with my writing. I’m craving a wide open space: a couple of blocked-off months, a time to focus. I want to eat, live and breathe the topic that’s been placed on my heart and I want to do it with no expectations to write here in this space.
In some ways, this feels like the biggest leap of faith I’ve made to date. Sure, I’ve had plenty of opportunities to trust the Lord, but most of them have been put on me. Loss or circumstances have given me no other choice. This–this creating a space to embark on a project of a different kind, with no guarantee of where it will land me–feels big. Big and a little scary, but also exciting and exhilarating. Kind of like a roller coaster.
In the meantime I will miss being in this space. If you find that you miss reading and want to re-read or catch up on previous posts, try the Enough Series or my most popular post–if you don’t count the day eight hundred people crawled the site to read about my miscarriage after our dear friend Charles Martin posted the link on his Facebook page. (That felt a little scary). Of course, you could also read Adventures in Grace but that’s not yet finished. (I’m trying to be okay with that).
I recently read this in a book foreword: “writers do not write to impart knowledge to others; rather, [we] write to inform [our]selves.” That really speaks to me…into my people-pleasing brokenness and into the parts where I’m desperate to experience Life and the Holy Spirit and to live in Truth and abundance.
So I’m hanging out my Gone Fishin’ shingle, but just for now. Not for forever. I would love your prayers as I steep myself in studying and listening and walk around the house refilling soap dispensers as I process it all. I look forward to sharing what I learn some day with you.
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