I. mean. seriously.
Thought pellets. My brain must look like cheap siding after a hailstorm. And I can’t get half the ideas out my fingertips or mouth before they melt.
They pound at all times of day and night. Wherever I am. Whatever I’m doing. Or not doing.
I thought quitting my job last year would bring a little more peace and tranquility. Especially after I decluttered.
Not so much.
I think it just helped to clear out some overgrowth and tumble some walls.
Now I’m a lone tree in the field. A prime target for repeated lightning strikes.
It was that Holy Discontent thing. And Half Time. Being a Popeye person. Finding my passion. My one thing. Finishing well. Going from success to significance. My truest purpose. Eternal perspective. The “stuff that stirs my heart’s holiest chambers.” (Bob Buford)
Was it nursing? I used to dream about being a missionary nurse. Should I morph into parish nursing? What about a joint MSN/M.Div?
Should I be a nun? Another childhood dream. Nah. Too late for that. Plus I’m not even Catholic.
Airline attendant? Nope. That was my mom’s dream for me so she could travel free. But travel would be nice.
Medical transcription? Document health stories? Important. Fun.
Advocate for Compassion International? I could really get into that.
Should I devote myself to leading inductive study through Precept Ministries International? Now I’m talking!
Words. Words. Words. The Word. Words in. Words out. Turn a word. Twist a phrase.
Makes my heart quiver. Throb.
Set apart. Healing words. Compassionate caring. Encouraging. Laughing. Crying. Travelling through space and time. Exciting others about the Word.
My head hurts.
Make. It. Stop.
What “stuff stirs your heart’s holiest chambers?”
Copyright © 2009 by Sandra Heska King