enough

what if
this was the only way
we'd stop
and breathe

"let 2020 be
marked by depth and creativity"

that's what I said
at the end
of 2019.

what if
this was the only way
we'd stop
and breathe

I asked the Lord for
humility
and
what could be
more humbling
than this

scarcity
to show me
I have
all that I need

I read Brene Brown's Daring Greatly during my maternity leave last fall. I distinctly remember her talking about this idea of scarcity, and how it permeates our day-to-day here. We feel as though we don't have enough – time, money, energy, opportunity, proximity, etc – and that we react by hoarding, panicking, planning to make sure we have what we think we need. She also said that scarcity and abundance are two sides of the same coin, highlighting the two extremes of the void we fill.

She also talked about writing to heal.

In the last few weeks, most of our lives have been turned upside down – much of what we assumed was predictable, dependable, and available suddenly is not. We have to stop. Reevaluate. Reengage with things previously ignored or easily dismissed. As such, I am convinced there will be a lot of things brought to the surface in our souls, our families, and our communities.

And there will be healing.

Scripture says there is a time for everything, including a time to heal (see Ecclesiastes 3). This is a time we could never have guessed, anticipated, or hoped for. One evening not even quite a month ago, I attended what now seems like quite possibly the last public event of 2020, a live Colony House and Tyson Motsenbocker show. I kid (I hope), but within 24 hours the rest of their tour was cancelled, the college campus I work at shut down, and Target was out of supplies I'd never dreamed of. Seemingly in an instant, everything changed. Every day has brought another layer of complexity and heartache, longing for all sorts of things we once took for granted – hugging a close friend, engaging in face-to-face conversations, enjoying a happy hour at a beloved restaurant, getting a workout in at the gym. More than that, many of us have lost some sort of income, sense of stability, and overall sanity in this unraveling process. So many things have been cancelled, postponed, and put off, including our very own hearts' expectations, plans, and hopes.

I remember the feeling of taking in the end of that show, knowing like a child on the shore of an oncoming tsunami – something was about to hit. Colony House closed that night with their song, The Hope Inside.

"Maybe it's the hope inside
That comes alive
When it's all we have left"

Maybe it's when we lose our hope we can find hope.

I never knew that night what kinds of things I would lose in the coming weeks. And if the research and predictions are more right on than not, I could lose a lot more – some already have. It is no coincidence to me that our community at church had been wrestling with what it means to rest, pause, and acknowledge our own capacities before the Lord of all. The beginning of 2020 entailed a series of sermons, conversations, books, and wrangling rhythms to learn to stop.

And then everything stopped.

Maybe it's the only way we'd ever really stop.

I believe in a God who knows what He's doing, who is trustworthy and compassionate and kind. I also believe He is the Vine through Whom we must be pruned, purposefully yet tenderly removing what promises hope but does not satisfy.

Maybe this is how we might see
That we actually have everything that we need.

Maybe this all is grace.

"We are the flowers that are ready for rain
Waiting for the water to restore what remains
Wilted hearts harmonize together in pain
Singing hallelujah while we wait"