I can’t get a thing written today. I’ve tried. About a dozen times.
Here are some first lines that went nowhere thanks to interruptions.
It’s a mistaken thought that you have to hold a position in a church to be called to ministry.
Glass storm door swings wide open. “MOM! It’s too hot outside… can we have something cold?”
Popsicle… it’s cold. The ones without food dye, of course. Oh, and here’s an extra for the neighbor.
Where was I?
Discard entry. Let’s try something else.
In this season leading to the cross, where our sins were washed away in the blood of the Lamb, I wonder why certain sins seem to be worse than others?
Ding Dong. Doorbell? Why? Oh, another neighbor child. Doesn’t she see the kids in the front yard?
“I need to borrow your phone to call my daddy. We locked ourselves out of the house.”
Poor thing. Her brother and she are sometimes latchkey kids. Her father is a single-dad and doesn’t always get home before they get out of school.
“Let me walk you down to find the key, honey.”
“Thank you, Katie’s mom.”
Where was I?
Well, that thought derailed.
No wonder Rachel Held Evans is about to release her third book… She doesn’t have kids. Of course she finds time to write. Oh, I wonder how Jen Hatmaker does it? She has more kids than I do. Nevermind. Push those thoughts away.
Hands to keyboard…
I wonder if during its transformation to a butterfly, the caterpillar experiences pain?
“We’re still hot.”
Where was I? Butterflies? Too existential right now.
Ministry was working well.
I have discovered just because I stepped away from a ministry position, that does not mean my ministry to many of those women has ceased.
Glass door swings open wide again.
“Honey, when you get a second can you spot me on my bench press?”
Wouldn’t want him to kill himself. Better attend to that right now. Let’s go help him bear his burden.
I have many callings in my life, not just writer. But wife, mother, daughter, friend, neighbor. I have to keep focus and keep my priorities straight. It’s difficult. Sometimes all I want to do is seclude myself and write. Process what’s going on in my life. But often, the interruptions are life. Needs to be met. Conversations to be had. Popsicles to fetch. Burdens to bear.
Glass door opens. It’s the husband again.
He walks over and plants a kiss on my cheek. “You’re awesome,” he says.
Okay, it’s worth it. Interruptions and all.
God’s peace to you!