My notebook is colorful. I make pages for calendars and to-do lists dotted with doodles and mini sketches. My march page has a garden and rain clouds.
My plan for March was very focused on Lent and church. The month kicked off with a Mardi Gras Party and Ash Wednesday. Originally, my infusion was scheduled for mid-February but there was a paper issue and it was rescheduled for the 1st Thursday of March. That felt OK. Appropriate way to start Lent.
But I had not counted on needing a recovery time and I was sweating it a little bit knowing that I had "kids night out" at church just a week later. I fumbled through the week hope aware of how I felt, trying to assess if one day was better than the previous. I alternated between passing myself to get back to life and resting to try to speed my recovery.
I made it. Just in time. I felt great on Friday and had a blast playing with the kids. It took a while to fall asleep that night, letting the rush of excitement pass.
I woke up this morning with no plan. The day felt markedly empty. I lazed in bed and snuggled Zander. I thought what I might do. It wasn't supposed to rain. It was an ordinary Saturday.
As I eased into the day, we did normal things. Cleaned out the van from all the supplies that had been hurriedly packed the night before. I decided to go to a carwash and vacuum it out. We went from there to a park where I sat at watched kids until my butt went numb.
I started thinking about the moments after - right after you graduate or get married. After someone dies. After a big milestone or after a vacation. In our house, we call this a post-qual slump named after the melancholy that comes following a qualifying exam, master's thesis or dissertation defense. This big intellectual achievement is followed by a slump. It is quiet and empty. The brain recovers and processes. There's a lot of sitting and staring. Not so much articulated thought, but just a deep pervasive silence. A heavy ordinary-ness.
The gospel story that best summarizes this space is the story of the road to Emmaus. As risen Jesus walked with disciples on the road. They didn't recognize him but their hearts were listening. They were in that quiet moment after the rush of events and they were trying to make sense of it all and Jesus came and walked with them and explained it to them.
This uneventful, relatively empty pause between the events of life where I regroup and process are important. Like the disciples, I don't see anything special, I'm just walking or doing laundry or sitting at the park watching the kids play. But my post-busy silent vigil is an opportunity to invite Christ to walk alongside me and explain what God is doing in my life and in the lives of the people around me. In these moments, if I am open to hear God, I can turn and reorient myself to the work God is doing.
Sometimes the conversation is silent. Happening somewhere deep in my heart beyond the realm of words. I am compelled to just stare out the window and watch birds or fold laundry. But somewhere beyond my grasp, God is there with me.
Sometimes I remember bits and pieces of what just happened and in replaying it in my mind I realize something I hadn't seen before. Something someone said or did. Something I said or did and suddenly meaning appears that wasn't there before and I understand something new and I am convicted of a new call or direction. Or a phone call I should make or letter I should write.
I am grateful for the "after" the mini Emnaus moments in my life where God can walk alongside me and teach my heart which path i might walk next.
Today was a beautiful, ordinary, empty Emmaus day and I pray that I am open to hear what God may teach me in it.
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