Two weeks of silence

I don't understand how easy it is to fall out of the habit of doing something so simple as a daily web log posting. It doesn't take much time -- more time some days than others. By no means does the posting have to be long, complex, particularly profound, or even entertaining. The way I see it the web log is about seeing and reflecting and then reflecting in some disciplined way, like writing. And, beyond that, it gives me the opportunity to communicate a bit of what I'm seeing and reflecting on with other people, in particular people in the mission congregation I serve and family and friends.

So, why has it been two weeks since I've signed on?

My last posting was from my parents' home. My father was in the hospital awaiting surgery and I was keeping my mother company. While it was an intense time, I did some writing. Then, with the day of surgery two days away, I returned home to conduct Sunday worship. With hours on the road coming and going, being however briefly involved with the people in my charge, catching up at home with Tal and the dogs, and preparing to leave again almost as soon as I'd arrived, I didn't work in any keyboard time. Then, or following the surgery back at Litchfield.

And, since the successful (blessedly) operation and my settling back in at home, well, let's just say there've not been enough hours. I've been in "making up for lost time" mode for ten days now.

But, if I'm completely honest, I know these two weeks between postings are pretty much the rule for me, not the wondrous exception I've made them out to be here. My almost 53 years of life are strewn with examples of not allowing time for the activities and the projects and the inquiries that might nourish me. I am far too busy for that, far too intent on crossing "t's" and dotting "i's" and taking care of endless detail, far too busy being busy.

Somewhere along the line I learned that I cannot do anything fun (translate that "non-work") until all the work is done. A sad fact: one of the most intensely happy moments of my life came on a vacation when I suddenly realized that the hotel room was completely orderly, my laundry rinsed and hanging over the shower rod, all the ever-so-necessary postcards written, addressed and stamped, and I felt -- suddenly and incomprehensively -- caught up. Such bliss I cannot begin to express. Something in me works toward that elusive goal all the time and, if I'm not careful, I'm going to end up at the conclusion of this earthly existence still waiting to get started on the fun stuff.

What do I want to do? Well, write, for one thing. Practice the piano. Walk every day. Finish (actually, get a serious start on) my currently-sitting-in-the-cedar-closet needlework project. Shoot pictures. Explore my contemplative bent. Keep up with friends.

Am I going to do any of them? I wonder. And I hope.

But, will I decide?

If I don't decide, that in itself will be a decision, a very sad decision.